Enjoying my oyster stew
Food is many things: flavors, textures, smells, an excuse to use your fingers to clean a bowl that was used to mix chocolate cake batter. But food is also memory. It’s a time machine, resurrecting recollections that had shriveled like an orange peel on a scorching summer sidewalk. Oyster stew does the trick for me. Every Christmastime, my parents would whip up a big kettle of oyster stew. I was the only one among my seven siblings who would sip some stew with our parents. Which was just dandy; more for me. When December’s deep cold arrives something deep within me stirs, ...