Seattle, Washington - where it’s cool and cloudy
Written the first week of September, 2008

SALLY FORTH SLOWLY

That’s an archaic expression. One of its meanings is to venture out from a defensive position. In my case, it means rising up out of my morning foxhole where I’m hunkered down drinking coffee and trying to wake up. Some days have slow starts. But there’s a fine day out there in the making - as soon as the early fog burns off. The switch on the wall of the world marked “September” has been thrown to the On position. Time to sally forth.

If you could see my kitchen this morning you would have a clue or two as to why my sallying forth is in sloth gear. The remains of a fine meal are right where they were left last night. Two crumpled blue napkins. Dessert spoons in blue-and-white bowls where once there was coconut sorbet and a mix of peaches and mangos. Two glasses empty of the zinfandel they contained. Two smaller glasses now empty of rainwater Madeira.

Still on the stove are the pan where summer squash and corn was sautéed - and a pot where rice noodles were cooked. The smell of fresh pesto lingers in the room, mixed with the smoky fragrance of candle-wicks after they are blown out.

It’s not that I’m a slob or too lazy to clean up the kitchen after a guest leaves. Not at all. I usually leave my kitchen just as it was because I want to reinforce and revisit the memory of a lovely evening.

I want that pause when I come down in the early morning light - the pause when I recall preparing that meal - recall turning off the lights and lighting up the candles - recall catching the hand of my guest and saying “The best blessing a meal can have is good company.” - recall the first tastes of the meal, and the second glass of wine and the last.

The memory flash lasts only a moment. But I cherish that moment. I want to savor it. It is the true dessert for a memorable meal.

In that mood, I sally forth. The dishes can wait.