One thing that tends to happen when one has lived too long in a city is that one falls into a rut. One builds a comfort zone, a routine, that slowly blocks the rush of stimuli that barrages a casual passer-by. From a wealth of details, one selects some and ignores most, the receptors are deadened, and the result is a zombie-like existence.
So, the fact that the trees are taller and have expanded their leafy cover onto a street goes unnoticed. That there are new bakeries and small cafes sprouting in side streets goes unremarked upon. The same old potholes are avoided, the traffic lights that haven’t been fixed for years are cursed half-heartedly, the election posters dissolve into mere blurs, even as they still cast their blight on avenues that could have been more pleasant. The all-important routine is followed, the tried and tested favorites are always sampled, and room for experimentation disappears.
But that’s what’s great about a city. It evolves, and so one doesn’t necessarily have to ossify into a dead carcass. All that’s necessary is that one’s eyes are kept open, and opportunities are grabbed when they present themselves. This lesson was brought soundly home to me when a publisher asked me to accompany her to sample the best chocolate desserts in the city, and come up with a short list. (Nope, much as it seemed that this was where it was going, this is not going to be a political diatribe. Something more delectable, fortunately).
The top ten? I couldn’t for the life of me name the top five, stuck as I was into ordering from the already fabulous selection of what I feel is the best dessert place in the city (Cafe Georg, natch). Could there really be other establishments here in this fair city that are actually competitive with my bet? Perhaps, there were. It was easy to concede the possibility, since it was easy to acknowledge that I hadn’t exactly been fond of experimentation (as compared to, say, when I was still in my teens). From that realization, it was easy to arrive at a ‘yes’ to the publisher, and so pack my metaphorical bags I went. (Mentally, I also prepared to pack on the pounds, and rehearsed an apology to the doctor who would surely frown on my elevated sugar levels.)
First epiphany was, one doesn’t have to go to a restaurant to find good dessert. There’s a fair number of home entrepreneurs who produce their own concoctions, and with a bit of research, all that might be necessary is to ask around for tips, recommendations and memories, and then follow up on those. So one can get home-cooked goodness that can rival the best creations of the top chefs of the city, and at cheaper prices too. (Unfortunately, my publisher might kill me if I start naming names now, even before our list makes it to print, so all I can do is be a tease. But you’ll have to admit I just gave a great lead.)
Second, never ever forget your roots. I suddenly realized as I was plowing into tablea and churros con tsokolate that hey, these childhood treats, which have been always around to comfort scrapes and aches, have for some inexplicable reason been relegated into invisibility. My dessert radar doesn’t pick up emanations from these local confections anymore, but yet it should. I guess, in the quest to expand my palate and venture into more ‘sophisticated’ creations like Belgian chocolate moussed into Ferrero Rocher ganache whipped into Swiss cream, I forgot my taste buds were developed on these standard fare. Big mistake. (Note to self, look for suman dipped into native chocolate, and gorge.)
Third, and maybe last, keep your eyes peeled. New kitchens are built and new chefs come into town and new inventions are created. If I just paid better heed, then I might have discovered much earlier that there are dainty titbits to be had at this corner cafe and that ice cream shop.
And finally, one last revelation. I must tell my doctor, this calorie counting is cramping my taste buds.