the best pretzel

I have been away from writing for two weeks which wasn't my plan but it seems that once I go on a vacation (to New Jersey for my niece's bat mitsvah and then to Philly for fun), my monkey-mind gets very quiet: I rarely read and only do my daily journal and/or travel note-taking. Also, this time, even though I took my handy mini-notebook computer to check emails and maybe write my blog, the hotel we stayed in charged 10 bucks a day for internet access (and the air line charges $13.00 which we did pay in the air on our way back East). So, except for one frigid day in Philly when we walked from the Visitor Center and Liberty Bell exhibit to find First Christ Church and found, by accident, Betsy Ross' house (miniature in scale, like a doll house)--we located a Starbucks right across the street from Betsy's house, settled in for an hour or so to do emails and warm up. There are many details from the trip I have in my pencil scribbles but today I am just trying to refind the rhythm of writing and I want to write about the best pretzel I have ever eaten.

Philly is a fine place to eat and eat we did (and I gained 2-3 pounds for the pleasure). A hot dog at Pat's in Passyunck/South Philly melted in my mouth, gentle nestled in a freshly baked bun. The creme brule at Maggiano's on Filbert had a light, whipped custard texture and the burnt sugar on top was as thin as a fingernail. But, as usual for me (this is my third visit), the Reading Terminal Market offered the delicious delights: Hertzel's Deli pastrami that was absent any fat and was cut into quarter inch slices of meat that were perfectly brined and a pretzel that was swathed with farm fresh butter,(from Lanchaster, Pennsylvanin-Amish Country), dotted with sea salt and had just come from the oven. We had two and I could have eaten twelve. I don't know when or if I will ever eat another pretzel! How could anything compare? How could anything so simple bring such pleaure? I gently ducked my pieces into the chicken broth and matzo ball soup, also from Hertzel's, and imagined my mother-in-law doing the same. It was in 1973, on my first visit to San Diego and first meeting with my now-husband, that she took me and her youngest daughter to the San Diego Zoo and bought me my first hot pretzel. And, as I write this, I recall it was also my mother-in-law who introduced me to pastrami at the "old" Tucson JCC (before I met my husband to be), and as I chewed on the meat I thought "where has this been all my life?" (I was only 22 years old at the time).

Such is the discovery and welcome remembrance of the simple joys of eating. But, along with the taste of a good pretzel, or pastrami or creme brulee, is the memory, often enhanced over the years, of with whom I shared this food. In the case of Philly, it was with my husband and son. We don't often get together and so these shared meals were very special to me. Often, in the midst of an order, or a bite of pasta or pot sticker (another good meal at a Chinese Fusion restaurant in Cherry Hill New Jersey), I would look at the both of them and give thanks for these moments of peace. Because when the two of them reunite, at first it's like watching two bull mooses lock horns in a forest. Neither one of them wants to relinquish control or dominance and, over time, I have learned not to try to mediate between their squabbles but move out of the way and let the tension dissolve into our son's sarcasm or my husband's silence. Maybe someday they will find a better way to resolve their ego fueled differences, but for now, it's the mutual appreciation of the best pretzel that is my metaphor for reclaimed family fun.

What is your metaphor for how food makes for good times in your life? Whatever the menu item, I hope you can find time to enjoy it as much as I did last week in Philly.