Remembrance

I took a bite of the cake offered at the Waitrose sample/display table.  The chocolate was pedestrian and overwhelmed the oily sponge above it.  Then, the almond extract came through and I smiled, saying, “suddenly the memory returns.”

“Stop that.”  The young woman normally at the tills was giving me the schoolmarm frown.

“Pardon me?”

“If I hear one more reference to ‘A la Recherche,’ someone will feel my wrath.”

Penitent, I bought a bag of the crappy pastries, mostly because I was too busy to eat the fresh mushrooms I had been gifted Friday and had no good way to dry them.  I had decided to give them as a gift to the fellow that introduced me to the ‘farmer’ in Brixton who gave me this batch.

Everything is interconnected.

For instance, just last week I got a Beastie Boys song stuck in my head.  Now, another is there because, you know, “Cookie Proust.”