I don’t like articles on food. Everyone is a self appointed food lover, gastronomer fantastique or finding ground somewhere between the two. Which then leads to a sludge of mixed up opinions and love songs about food.
I wrote the above paragraph because of guilt and/or as a disclaimer.
I wanted to begin this note by talking about my love for profiteroles.
And as soon as I wrote the first line I thought to myself – ‘I’m that guy. I’m writing about food. I am one of the many millions chattering to the internet about my tastebuds exploding. How average.’
I’ve succumbed. I’m sure I’ll learn to live with it.
I studied food. For three years in college. I got a degree in hotel management, catering technology and applied nutrition. Did I ever care passionately enough about food to take that degree forward? Make my parents feel that they hadn’t set their money on fire while paying my school fee? Nope. I did nothing of the sort. I realised it wasn’t for me and quit at the first chance I got. But the time spent in BTK (basic training kitchen), QFK (quantity food kitchen) and ATK (Advanced training kitchen) made me understand my deep love for certain types of food.
What a perfect dessert.
The beauty lies in the choux pastry which is made up of tiny little poems. I could go on, but profiteroles are an experience, not a recipe.
I had been hankering for profiteroles for a while. I may have even tweeted about it many months ago (because wishes are granted if you rave and rant on the internets)
I landed in New York the day before yesterday and got to my Air bnb apartment in the west village at 5 pm. The owner hadn’t shown up with the keys so I walked across the street to a cafe to get my caffeine on. I wasn’t hungry because British Airways had managed to poison me over the last few hours and the sight of food was disturbing.
I blankly stared at the menu while trying to thaw and I don’t know how it happened because it was all so quick, but suddenly I had a bowl of profiteroles and whipped cream in front of me.
I have rarely eaten food so delicately and with so much respect. Good food deserves that. The lightest Choux pastry with the perfect hint of butter, filled with whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate sauce. Angels sang when I had the first bite.
I’d found the perfect place for my favorite dessert. Tiny little cafe by the name of Cafe Reggio with little wrought iron chairs, leather couches, and a big coffee machine. I was back there the next morning, and that evening, and as soon as I finish writing this, I will head down there and stay for a while.
My best friends and I made a pact. We decided that every time the three of us are in different parts of the world we will write letters to each other. On paper. With a pen. And once we meet we’ll share them. This pact was made yesterday. And I wrote my first letter at cafe Reggio.
I have a feeling that that moment will be tattooed in my mind forever. Good food, great coffee, the threat of snow outside and my friends running around in my head.