“We do not remember days; we remember moments.” ~Cesare Pavese
Today I made pimento cheese.
For anyone that knew my father, it was widely known that he was one of the finest pimento cheese makers around.
In fact, it was a real treat if you were fortunate enough to receive yours in his favorite red Fire King pint dish with the glass lid.
For some reason it just tasted better.
He always made enough to give pints away to a fortunate few. If I was home, he let me turn the crank on the grinder that was mounted to the counter as he pushed through whole gherkins and sticks of yellow cheddar.
The linoleum counter would be sticky and the aroma of sweet pickle juice would hang in the air and it seemed to permeate my skin and nostrils.
November was here.
It was pimento cheese season.
It always tasted the best to me fresh and spreadable before it set and became stiff.
Right there, over the big “potato salad bowl” he would take a piece of bread and make me a fold-over sandwich. We would eat that first taste together in the kitchen and close our eyes to that first bite of savory, satisfaction.
Today I did the same thing.
I stood in my kitchen, the scent of sweet pickles all around and closed my eyes to the arrival of Autumn on white bread.
Today, I was a time traveler.
10 years old.
Sharing a sandwich with my father.
Keep your traditions.
Remember your love.
Enjoy your day.
Hug your peoples.
The View From Here 