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The lovely thing about families is that we all have traditions, which, while we're in the thick of them, seem perfectly normal and just what we do. But sometimes, through no fault of our own, traditions end. Then we are handed bittersweet hindsight, and in seeing our traditions again through fresh, almost naive eyes, we realize the wondrous, unique nature of what we had for so long thought was simply commonplace.
Morellino Artichoke
Recently, while attending a wedding in Chicago, I was chatting with my two female cousins during the cocktail hour portion of the event. We teetered in our high heels while trying to gracefully balance champagne glasses, various passed hour d’oeuvres and cocktail napkins in our hands.
So, I'm sitting at my desk chomping on the last of my Cadbury's Crème Eggs from Easter and I'm wondering to myself, how come I haven't seen any huge hollow chocolate eggs around these parts?
Last Monday Chizuko and I were invited by a friend, S-san, to try making buckwheat noodles (soba そば, in Japanese) at her home. Soba making is one of several hands-on activities that a group in Ōtaki is beginning to develop for tourists. So, this time was a kind of trial run, I suppose.
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