Antipasti at Aunt K and Uncle Dave’s house while my parents were in town!!
It’s so rare that I get to taste the Italian flavas of my youth out west.. This antipasti (pronounced “ah-ni-paaaaaaaas”) came as the ultimate comfort when I needed it most.
Aunt K was in Staten Island on the week prior and nabbed a few fresh spinach loaves from the local Italian bakery (6 o’clock). Heated in the oven, the olive oil and garlic really came alive. She rolled the brilliant pinwheels with fresh mozzarella, Genoa salami and soppressata (K says Safeway has the best selection).. central to the antipasti was an oil and vinegar medley of roasted red peppers, mixed olives, pimentos and cubed provolone. At 12 o’clock, wedges of Parmesan and some marinated artichoke hearts.
staring—”gazing”—into the depths of this wafting mirror of cylindrical dormancy—this hearkening pool of hypnotic movement whirling, sifting, as a waning layer of white etching wavers, dances along the rim of potted mug before leaping, starstruck, from plane into sky…
i breathe onto surface and the sands shift, like the wasteful thrill of a windstorm somewhere amidst this vast, barren desert, at night.. almost indiscernible.
radiating in my clutch, rolling swift lava-like currency down welcoming throat, cleansing of mental impurities associated with the dragging of time and space—the lost alertness or remnant fog i’ve witnessed escaping—alee—from this mug.
…and it pairs so perfectly with a hopeful slab of almond-buttered wheat toast.
12/16/09 —ode to my morning cup: a caffeine fueled ramble.
