Steamed Rice

If you can't appreciate a simple bowl of steamed white rice, what makes you think you can appreciate the perfectly tender lobster that rests on top?

Red Velvet Dreams

Have you ever had a food that transports you to a place you've never been? I'm not talking metaphysically, I mean a real place in this world, maybe in whatever era your context of it exists, but nonetheless, it exists. If you were so inclined, you could hop on a plane and be there within a day. But the experience of it may level your expectations. This is what I feel when I indulge in the wonder that is red velvet cake.

My friend and fellow bridesmaid, Aniesa, whipped up a batch of her red velvet cupcakes for our friend's bridal shower. I watched guests peruse the dessert table (I was strategically posted there for most of the event), and the reactions were varied. Some were squeemish at trying something new, something they didn't know, and others enjoyed, but seemed embarrassed to go for a second. Others wanted nothing more than some traditional West Indian desserts, while others (like myself, usually) ate no dessert at all.

Mind you, we live in the north. Most people in this city have never heard of the stuff. Which, we (including the bride) were more than happy for because it meant more for us. And in an age where you can educate yourself on most anything you could want, many people couldn't be bothered. Hell, if I didn't blog the way I did, and meet people from around the globe, I too would never have known of Red Velvet Cake.

Mmmm.... the sight of it, the taste of it, the texture of it, takes me to an afternoon garden party in the deep south, where just the slightest breeze lets you know evening is coming. The rich sweetness crawls in tendrils around your brain. Each sweet cloud is a reflection of all things the south has always striven to be. And though I've been to the southern states, I've never in my life been in a place like this. Though that's where it takes me. And that's worth the calories now and again.

Toast and Tea

Many times I'll come home and not want a big meal. It maybe that I'm not up to preparing something, but mostly, it will be because I want nothing heavy, substantial or complex. I want simple comfort.

Growing up, a snack before bedtime, or an enjoyable breakfast could be as easy as toast and tea. Not just any toast and not just any tea. Else, it wouldn't be the same comforting meal. It was Orange Pekoe (yes, ordinary, nothing extravagant) with milk and sugar, and white sliced buttered bread. It easily puts me at ease. Who needs sleeping pills when you have this.

Nowadays, I skip the white bread. I don't eat the stuff. Instead, I have a wonderful bakery down the street. I get a loaf of grain bread, freshly baked on the weekends, and if you store it properly, it keeps for the week. And no butter in my house (I'll get into that later); I use margarine. But the tea remains the same, and I can drink cuploads of it. And I no longer dip the toast in the tea, giving it just the right amount of moisture and eating it before it gets soggy. I let that rest with my childhood.

Ask anyone from the West Indies, and they will know of toast and tea. We're a series of colonies - we grew up on tea. Brew a fresh pot. Cut a thick slick of fresh and fragrant bread. Slather on butter (or my case, margarine). It's the ingredients that do it. Its the expectation of 'that' tea, and 'that' toast, that make the dish what it is to me - a sedative on a plate (and in a cup).