Missing

I miss things in food.

I first realized this at a funeral. My great-grandmother had died, and my grandmother-who-was-her-daughter wasn't in attendance. There was a flavor on my tongue that I wanted, and I placed it after staring at the food table for a little bit. Lemon bars.

I told a parent this, and got a sad smile. My grandmother made lemon bars--it was a specialty, exactly the sort of dish she would've brought to a funeral.

Given that I'm at college, I've been missing many things, and not quite finding them. My father's fudge, San Francisco sourdough, homemade macaroni and cheese, my mother's popcorn, my brother's sandwiches (pickles, cheese, honey), avocados--which appear to simply not come whole here even though I can find them as mashed sandwich toppings and guacamole.

I've found myself missing a caramel that I last had when my age was in the single digits. If I were home with this craving, I would open up Joy of Cooking and ask my dad for help, because I know caramel is difficult.

I miss roasted marshmallows. I haven't been to a campfire in a long time, but I browned them over the stove top. (With a promise to clean up any mess should I drop one.)

I miss mashed potatoes, from Thanksgiving and almost always when I got to choose the meal. I've found them here, though the gravy isn't right.

I miss things in food.

I miss home-cooked meals because I miss home.