My favorite in the series, I think.
Fischer makes me feel like I'm accompanying her through all of her memories in this essay. First I'm climbing the hills with Aunt Gwen, an unsanctioned fried egg sandwich in my pocket, and then I'm singing with her family in Berne, sipping cognac while road construction debris falls around the car in a kind of enchantment. Maybe they were representative of two dining experiences, too -- the homey and simple treat for an afternoon walk and a luxurious meal at an elegant hotel. In both cases, and as she's covered before, it's the company who makes the meal.
My first go-round with these essays, more of the recipes sounded appetizing, and upon re-reading, I'm a little turned off. But don't those fried egg sandwiches sound kind of naughty and good?
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3 comments:
This was a nice essay. Great story about the family in Berne.
My mom makes fried egg sandwiches! We didn't have the drippings, though, just butter. But still, yum. Sometimes we added a slice of American cheese. They are one of Valerie's favorites, too.
I thought the fried egg sandwiches were supposed to be horrifying, and they were!
I adore fried egg sandwiches. They are very elemental and satisfying. Egg. Toast. Salt. Pepper.
And I adore in this essay when Fischer says the three of them sneaked out into "the blue-ing air," referring to the Swiss evening.
And when she describes the rose wine as foaming and bubbling and "full of a magic gas."
I remember times drinking bubbly and not just feeling bubbly inside but having this overwhelming conviction that life is at bottom sparkling and light and refreshing.
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