There can be an occasion for food but food can also make an occasion out of anything.
Mother. She came to stay. Filled up my apartment with the perfume she has worn all my life, commentaries about what she is doing in certain moments of the day, and her swaying to my music while we made dinner together.
The week started with me not here much. Food begs you to nurture it before 7am when you work in a restaurant. So every morning she would cut fruit from the fruit bowl and pour a small jar of yoghurt over it. It was only natural that I wanted to introduce her to how we do things here, at my place, considering she has never come to stay in a place of my own before.
Before she woke up on a day when the markets had filled the pavements along side the canal, I walked down to them and bought fresh fromage blanc, hazelnuts, pecans, almonds, fresh dates and peaches. The oven was turned to 200° when I got home, the peaches were halved and sprinkled with a little brown sugar (don’t be too generous as the fruit has enough sugar to caramelize itself) and cinnamon and then the halves were placed in the oven for half an hour. Towards the end of the peaches cooking time, my homemade granola was whipped up in a few seconds and placed in there with them to golden for about 8 minutes. And then I plated everything and called mum to a breakfast of granola made from scratch, slow roasted peaches and real French fromage blanc.
I left the music on, specifically Angus and Julia Stone’s Another Day, for her to sway to as she cleaned the dishes and sing to a song she had never heard before.