Is it a lack of sensory awareness or overwhelming greed that centres travel memories around food? Why is the meal shared in a foreign land at the forefront of a memory rather than the experience had? The baguette shared at the base of the Eifell Tower is as memorable as the climb, as is the early morning trip to the bakers for our breakfast each day. The hearty bowl of soup and cuppa offered at a tea room on an island off Scotland after a brisk ride around it’s circumference is the first thing that springs to mind when thinking of that trip, so are the pig’s ears that barely stayed in our stomachs in Barcelona when so much more was seen and done. Is it the sign of a greedy person?
The meals that could be afforded by hungry backpackers are still remembered over 20 years later; the pizza in Rome, bread in Nice, salami in Venice enjoyed in the sun. Olives stuffed with anchovies eaten on a rooftop in Seville, blood orange gelato, hot pot complete with chicken claws. A pork chop presented on a white plate at a worker’s café in Tuscany. Our niece crawled from table to table to be scooped up by burly men, cuddled, kissed and placed back on the ground while we enjoyed the offerings of the day. This happened so many years ago, but still I see that chop! The fresh porcini made into risotto, zucchini flowers fried for a starter; Italy's finest cities have been visited, but all I remember are the meals shared. The whole barbequed fish fed in pieces to our 12 month old son, and the sweetest juiciest, fresh peaches enjoyed on the lawn followed by a hose down in Portugal. Haggis shared with midgies in Scotland, dumplings in Hong Kong; I could go on and on.
We have been so fortunate to be able to have wonderful people to share the table with us in so many different places.
The Falshaws
The meals that could be afforded by hungry backpackers are still remembered over 20 years later; the pizza in Rome, bread in Nice, salami in Venice enjoyed in the sun. Olives stuffed with anchovies eaten on a rooftop in Seville, blood orange gelato, hot pot complete with chicken claws. A pork chop presented on a white plate at a worker’s café in Tuscany. Our niece crawled from table to table to be scooped up by burly men, cuddled, kissed and placed back on the ground while we enjoyed the offerings of the day. This happened so many years ago, but still I see that chop! The fresh porcini made into risotto, zucchini flowers fried for a starter; Italy's finest cities have been visited, but all I remember are the meals shared. The whole barbequed fish fed in pieces to our 12 month old son, and the sweetest juiciest, fresh peaches enjoyed on the lawn followed by a hose down in Portugal. Haggis shared with midgies in Scotland, dumplings in Hong Kong; I could go on and on.
We have been so fortunate to be able to have wonderful people to share the table with us in so many different places.
The Falshaws
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