Sometimes a taste of home

They say that a certain odor can trigger a memory, I'm also sure that a taste can too. I'm not feeling too homesick, but last friday on my shopping, at the Falomo bridge, the lady showed me some pears and I just had to buy. N100 each so I took five. Did I ever tell you that I grew up in a pear orchard? At our first house, the far back lot was planted in pears. We moved out of there when I was 6 so I don't maybe remember too much detail, but I did learn to love a good pear. They were pretty hard, which is good, a pear needs to be picked hard and then ripened or else they become mealy. I've been checking them each day with a slight squeeze and decided today is the day. What a treat! Soft and sweet, maybe not perfect, but a special taste of home.

Maybe this need has been building up. On Saturday, I had made spagetti for our neighborhood dinner and then last night got up at 01:30 to watch the Daytona 500. I'm not much of a NASCAR fan but there is something comforting about listening to Darrell Waltrip and company, such an American sound. And that Junior guy caused a crash and was really annoying in his post race comments, just like he's supposed to be. All's well on that front, perhaps we should have post race fisticuffs as well to entertain the fans.