Mariage Freres French Breakfast Tea

I woke up in a friend's tiny apartment on a gloomy day on the Upper West Side about ten years ago, rummaged through her tea, and selected a black canister with a funny French label, which I translated as "Marriage Brothers."  A few minutes later, I reflected, "This is the best tea I've ever had."  It still is.  Hints of malt and chocolate, but light and integral to the black tea taste, not added in.  A sip is just very delicate and whole.  I know I am influenced by the aura of French luxury, but I want to describe the flavor, and my resulting mood, as exalted.  Maybe I haven't changed so much since I memorized Baudelaire at 16: "Be intoxicated.  By wine, by poetry, by virtue, as you wish."  I wish tea.

The smoothness of eggplant

As a food lover, I fixate; I rarely get bored. It takes a long time for my longings to detach themselves from any one object. This summer, I have made the same recipe at least five times: Deborah Madison's "Eggplant Stew with Tomatoes, Peppers, and Chickpeas."  It's just a dressed-up tomato sauce, and the eggplant sort of disappears, then reappears as this mysterious smoothness to the taste. The paprika and the little bit of burning that usually happens in my cooking give it a smokiness.  And I cook the chick peas almost to mush so it's all very, very soft. It doesn't really need pasta: I'll be eating it as a meal unto itself now for an unbroken string of lunches and dinners.