No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me.
An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. ... Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? ... And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. And all from my cup of tea.”
– Marcel Proust
This week I’m thinking of atomic habits and ma madeleine de Proust; e.g., a French expression used to denote an object, event, or situation that evokes sweet memories. I would love to make food a part of my memoir, but…I’m a child of 1970s America. This may not be a good idea. Ma madeleine de proust is, at best, peeled mist from a California orange in the toe of my stocking every Christmas and, at worst, the overcooked pork-fried rice my sister-in-law, never known for her culinary prowess, cooked for dinner regularly. And which evokes more bad memories than good ones. I recall no childhood food item tied to my memories as charming or refined as Proust’s madeleine. The closest I can come – tragically, I think – is a Hostess Ding Dong, cake impenetrable in its brown waxed coat, dipped in a carton of school cafeteria milk.
However, my sister Megan used to make Norwegian meatballs for us. Those were delicious, and were I to eat them right now, would surely conjure pleasant memories. In fact, I already wrote about them once a long time ago. But, I cannot find the link.
Searching.
Things That Nourished My Writing: August 19-31.
FASHION
Glossier just opened a brick and mortar in Seattle. The line is still too long, but I will go soon.
Beautiful, functional aprons. I can’t get enough of them.
FOOD
Coffee downtown at Caffè Migliore.
Summer squash salad at Le Pichet. Bria and I ate lunch there for the first time since before the pandemic began.
FILM-ISH
I binge watched The White Lotus. So good.
LITERARY
Atomic Habits by James Clear
Leaders Eat Last by Simon Sinek
MUSIC
PLACES
Seattle’s Fairmont Olympic Hotel, where we rented two rooms across the hall from each other for a little staycation.
The intersection of First Avenue West and Crockett, where the Queen Anne Farmers Market consumed my summer.
(EXTRA) ORDINARY PEOPLE
Ben, Tee, and Jalen, the three twenty-somethings we hired this summer to help with Bellflower. They inspire belief, curiosity, and hope in humanity.