sweetgum, floating words, eating by color
Do you ever crave colors? Tonight, I turned to the stove knowing only that the pasta began with purple.
Soon, slender purple kale stems slicked with olive oil rested on top of strands laced with minced raw garlic from purplish paper shells, roasted cauliflower, and Italian tuna packed in oil from an oblong tin, a treasure from the cupboard.
This particular purple kick can be traced to a fish taco on Saturday at the Brooklyn Flea, where purple cabbage was a vehicle for tomatillo and crema sauces—I consider the fish taco my lucky flea market charm that led to a handmade vintage dress in a piscine pattern (I’ll point it out in a future post).
Heading into Manhattan, I watched as words floated in the rain as this artist set up mobiles in Union Square, the adjectives attaching themselves fleetingly to tourists as they ducked past, and I walked into the wholly wonderful new film about fantastic foxes that felt as vintage as that dress.
On Sunday, I stepped past Sweetgums in their frantic final burst of color,
marveling at the difference a side makes (I tend to like the B side of leaves),
and the fruit that I have never understood.
In DUMBO in Brooklyn, still suffering from lobster withdrawal from my stay in Maine, I yielded to lobster grits at the Red Hook Lobster Pound stand.
And looking at this order much like the red and yellow sides of leaves, I saved the lobster pieces for last, eating the golden grits around them bound with butter and Parmesan.
Now I sit and mull the Thanksgiving menu for next week here in Brooklyn, sorting complementary colors for the full spectrum of food cravings I expect to arrive for a holiday focused on food, the family we inherit, and the family we choose…