Moment

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). 

We had a garden last summer. A big garden, and half of it did well...the summer squash and green beans went crazy. I had no idea how satisfying it would be do grow our own food and eat it immediately. Admittedly, my husband did most of the growing and tending, but I cooked what he harvested.

At one point during the summer, I was also house-sitting for two friends who had a garden. I harvested a few tomatoes while I was over there watering, and they had an amazing mess of herbs growing on the patio. I grabbed some thyme, basil, oregano, and marjoram from their herb garden to accompany the tomatoes. The only herbs we were growing were basil and cilantro. The cilantro grew with gusto. The basil not so much.

We had some summer squash, zucchini, and green peppers from our garden, as well as two tiny heirloom eggplants and a few more tomatoes. We also had onions and garlic on hand (not from our garden, but grown locally and purchased at the farmers market). Thus, I had a pile of vegetables, most of which had been harvested within the last 24 hours, and they were the perfect pile to make ratatouille.

Have you seen the movie Ratatouille? If you love food, you should see it. If you have already watched it, you should be familiar with the scene that my husband and I refer to as "The Ratatouille Moment," wherein the bitter food critic bites into the lovingly crafted dish and is immediately transported back to his mother's kitchen from his childhood. It makes me cry every time. Every time.

I decided to make ratatouille, which I had never made before. I sauteed the onions, added the garlic and peppers, then the squash and eggplant, and finally the tomatoes and herbs (except for half of the basil that went in right before serving). I let it stew for about 20-30 minutes and added a generous drizzle of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper when I plated it. I served it with crusty olive bread from a local bread shop. The mix of colors on the plate was beautiful. The smell was divine.

When I took that first bite, it was a flavor explosion. I was overcome with bliss. I was filled with such joy that this perfect dish in front of me--a little taste of heaven--came from our humble garden and the garden of friends.

All that energy, captured in this lovely, simple creation. It filled my soul to the brim. It made my pagan heart sing.

It was a plate full of summer. A plate full of childhood. A plate full of hope. A plate full of love.

It tasted just like the sun. It tasted like life.