Not that this is in any way important or even interesting to anyone other than me, I still feel the need to say it once a year: I don’t eat a lot of fruit out of season.
And being from the heart of all things grapey that is Niagara I’m not even allowed to eat grapes outside of late summer/early Fall.
Certainly not grapes from ‘away’.
Except for once a year.
Beginning sometime in February and through March, I hire teams to continuously peel individual Chilean grapes for me as I sit on a tuffet and remember our trip to Chile and Argentina during the earthquake.
Remember also the street dogs of Santiago, the view from our window, Pablo Neruda’s shabby chic home, melons in a truck, the outdoor market, Los Elefantes in moonlight, the Andes, the bread sellers at highway toll boths, the betterthanpesto-like dip [whose ingredients I’ve forgotten], bottles of Carmenere on warm evenings and vineyards… and one stunningly beautiful train station where a man named Mauricio talked of Puerto Montt and the Lake District in such a way that we decided we would have to make the journey back to Chile one day, just to take that train.
That’s everything I wanted to say.