I brought back some treats and I thought, I need to get as many people as possible to eat these with me.
Party, gathering, soirée; all I know is there were candles
with golden crystallised skin and supple thick jamminess on the inside
dark, unsulphured, and sun-dried, well-suited to being pulled apart with a stickiness you can feel and hear
and whole pistachios
shelled, luminously green with papery, savoury skins, purple-russetted and crackly
and those ‘wild olives’, which in retrospect I’m sure were some type of date
waxy orange skin you have to peel
with flesh like a puff of citric sweetness, all at once, somewhere in between a powder and cotton candy
and the Turkish Delight of course
in many flavours of fruit and nut, rose, pistachio, hazelnut, lemon, coffee
oh yes, and the halva
crumbly, moist, succulent, rich, nutty, savoury, sweet; a texture that melts and chews together
and what would the night be without cocktails. Chloe had brought me a gift (as she is wont to do) of blackberry liqueur from Fauchon in Paris. I made a little fizz of it, with tonic, a splash of rose vinegar, green tea, and fresh sage.
These treats were good but I wouldn’t have enjoyed them all nearly as much without friends to share them with.
I only wish I had a little more of something to counteract all the sweetness. I had a little chunk of blue cheese, but there came a point (blasphemy, I know) where I just couldn’t handle more fig/apricot/halva sweetness on my tongue.
There are worse problems.