Sunday, August 10, 2008

I Ate It

I just ate the most beautiful thing I ever created. I don't have any children, which is good because I fear it would have been more beautiful then them even.

It was impeccable. Indefectible. Gorgeous. Something that could have inspired poems, started wars, caused men to lose their senses.

First I made bread. It was still warm and flawlessly laced with pockets of air... all sealed in a dark toothsome crust.

I didn't stop there even though reason told me to.

On top of a hearty slice of that luscious bread I lay thick cuts of Brandywine heirloom tomato... looking all tight in it's red and green skin... so ripe and ready to eat that it almost screamed when I sliced it.

I didn't know if anything could actually get better then that, but I was feeling like living dangerously. I went to my window garden to pluck, leaf by leaf, tender aromatic basil and sliced it still warm from the summer sun.

Next came shaved Parmigiano Reggiano. I cut it so thin that a piece dissolved right on the tongue. It was so sharp that it made my taste buds stand at attention and so perfectly aged that its tiny crystals burst like fire crackers.

I was just getting warmed up...

At the farmers market today I had picked up the most beautiful zucchini blossoms I've ever been in the same room with.

I ran them home and tossed them ever so lightly in water and flour, and sauteed them in olive oil until they developed a caramely crust.

They went on top of the cheese, which gave way ever so slightly under the heat. At this point I couldn't stop myself. I was out of control, so I drizzled - ever so gently - a dressing of 25 year aged balsamic vinegar. A bottle that I myself procured direct from Modena... in which I swear I can smell the heart and soul of the man who bottled it oh so long ago.

Finally, in an exhaustive state, I watched the last burst of creativity leave my fingers in the form of a perfect pinch of sea salt whose ample crystals glimmered like perfect stars amidst a perfect sky.

I don't know what happened next. It was so pretty, but I ate it. All of it. Even the last crumbs that tried to escape.

It was so sad. It had been so beautiful, so perfect, and no one had known it but me. It was here and gone before the world was the wiser without even a picture to capture its glow. I felt like I had just painted the Mona Lisa and then held a flame to it before the first guests arrived.

The sweet stench of summer died at my hands today.
It is probably better this way.

C'est la vie.

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