Melkkos

“The primary requisite for writing well about food is a good appetite.”

A good appetite I have; writing well craves practice.

On my way to work this winter morning I caught the tail-end of a radio talk: reminiscences of melkkos. A hodgepodge of memories jumbled to the fore. Cinnamon sticks covered with a thick hot milky sauce – waiting to be licked clean (fine, it’s true, I’m spilling beans).  A carefully measured mix of dusty cinnamon and grainy sugar – waiting to be layered. While a spoonful of melkkos and cinnamon sugar crunched under teeth, another sprinkle of the spicy mix covered awaiting food – but first a peek whether the adults were eying us. I suspect they were watching their waistlines – as well as ours? Years ago, however, a waistline was not a familiar coloring-in body part.  Final just-want-to-make-sure-if-there’s-not-another-helping made room for silent sighs – echoes of happy, almost holy feelings – of fullness, of completeness – that all was well with our souls.

I’ve given the recipe for melkkos in a previous post. Wander there if you’re in need of some comfort soul food, or wander there to connect with another soul’s memories.

On the menu tonight – melkkos. The challenge –  wondering whether my husband will match my mood…

 

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