Tastes

Try To Remember 

Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious.

 - Ruth Reichl

This blog is not about taste of success, taste in ideas, or matters of taste. It is literally, taste. The sensation of flavor perceived in the mouth and throat on contact with a substance.

Like the unique pungency from chili peppers and locally-produced yak cheese in Bhutan's signature ema dashi dish.

The sweetness of baklava, a popular pastry of Ottoman cuisine in Morocco; and the rich creaminess from three layers of milk in tres leches from Costa Rica and Mexico.

The ambrosial delectability of many other dishes savored in the course of my international travels comes to mind but, interestingly, what has always been on the forefront in my taste memoirs is one that's neither gourmet nor exotic. 

That of a slice of warm, flaky and sweet apple pie smothered in Rocky Road.

Tasting it for the first time in a small cafe on Cubao Street, I recall that it looked simple.

Unpretentious.

Its principal filling ingredient was...well... apples. With a bare sprinkling of cinnamon. Its topping was not fancy. Creamy chocolate ice cream with chewy marshmallows, crunchy almonds, and flecks of chocolate.

I remember its overwhelmingly fresh, bright, clean flavor. The playful pairing between the tartness of apples and the sweetness of a frozen concoction. It was pert, even chill.

I remember the moment. The company. 

Ah, yes.. My own Michelin star in dessert. So exquisite. 

And I try to remember.

The taste that brands a memory on my soul.