Yesterday, Ivan was out, and about, with Enrique, and came home with two bottles of the most wonderful tasting honey imaginable. I wish now, that I had had the foresight to take a photo of it in the original bottles. (The original bottles are the old fashioned quart milk bottles).
I also wish that I could describe the flavor of this honey to you. It is, however, so elusive, that it is hard to describe. I think I taste vanilla, or, better yet, a hint of, (ok, just think about this), snickerdoodle cookies. Just a hint, mind you.
So, when was the last time you had to try to describe the flavor of honey, one that did not taste like “ordinary”, mass produced honey? Huh? Probably never, will be your answer. It is not easy, because the flavor is not like anything you have ever eaten, in your life.
The honey is local, he thinks, and bought “en la calle”, on the street. Some things should never be bought on the street, from a street vendor, but honey is definitely not one of those things.
Frequently, the street vendors have products that are produced from an original source, more “organic’ if you will: a farmer; a bee keeper (in this case); a woman that weaves with string, and beads; a man that weaves with pine needles. Their products are not mass produced, refined, homogenized. They have flavor, texture, beauty, simple elegance.
When we get the shelving finished in the living room, we will find all of the treasures that we have purchased over the years, and display them. Most of what we have were handmade by someone, imperfect in the final product, but beautiful beyond words because of their imperfections.
None of the furniture, that we have in the condo, is perfect, nor did we want them to be. All of the furniture we have is, and will be, handmade to our specifications. In fact, our entire condo has been remodeled to what we want, not what the builders decided thirty years ago.
While we wait for the bicycles, the shelves, our office, to get here, stay happy, stay healthy, stay safe. Wash your hands, cover your mouth, and, protect your loved ones.
Post script: day seven without an “elected” president in the US.