I brought home a new EVOO (Extra Virgin Olive Oil) tonight. We are finishing up with the Southern Hemisphere, spring pressed olive oils and anxiously awaiting the fall press from our Northern Hemisphere suppliers in California, Italy, Greece and Spain. What I brought home was the tail-end (less than a salable amount) of Fratoio/Leccino from Chile. It was crushed in May and has a really delicate combination of green apple peel and fresh-cut, green hay. I can envision scallops seared in it. My counter is becoming littered with bottles containing tasty dribs and drabs of oils and vinegars.
Suddenly, recipes are showing up in my inbox. Trusted friends are writing and some even include photos of their creations. I am crafting a loose collection of fun “foodie” stuff, for the store website and beyond. The store is also providing me with a whole world of new characters to populate the next chapter of my life. I love feeling a part of a community again – recognizing customers and folks from neighboring businesses in town. It’s a such a compliment when they recognize me and comment.
And then the past pops up again. I checked my comments on today’s post and Mata Hari left me another message, in Bahasa Indonesian. It’s been thirty years since I spoke that language. And even then I was anything but fluent, with my street slang and colorful syntax. Who doesn’t love to teach a foreigner all the swear words? Needless to say, I was flooded with memories as I tried to take a deep breath and translate. “…and on behalf of them, thank you.”
Ah, but Mata Hari, you have slipped! I rack my brain, every time you show up with a comment, as to who you are. You have evaded my attempts to bait you and discover your identity in the past. I have a new clue. Either your spelling stinks or my ancient dictionary is wrong. For the spelling of them is “mereka”, you missed an “e” or am I wrong?
To my other readers, I apologize for going off on a tangent with this commenter. It just fascinates me that from the beginning, over a year ago, every few months this person shows up and always communicates with me in a long-forgotten tongue. It’s so private and unsettling when one is communicating their thoughts and emotions to the world, only to have it replied to from so long ago.
So communication, words, languages, mysteries and new tastes abound today. I wrote back to Mata Hari, in Bahasa. “Saya beruntung janlan ini…” which loosely translated means, “on this path, I am lucky.”