I got paralysed thinking about a happy memory to share. I found it hard to narrow things down, so I gave up yesterday. But I’m not a quitter, I’m back fighting today, so here it goes.
I have a lingering memory of our family spending the summer in Paris in my younger years during the Lebanese war. I love this memory because it was one of the very few times that my dad got involved in the kitchen, he always made a mess so he was rarely allowed in. That evening, he made us a delicious salad for dinner; a minimal-mess dish.
The memory feels light and memorable because I tend to experience the feeling of love through acts of service (The Five Love Languages if you haven’t checked them out you should), through the things people do. So it’s no surprise to me that this memory of my dad making this salad in Paris was the ultimate experience of love. This also explains why this salad is a firm favourite on my menu rotation, I never get tired of it. I guess it’s my way of reconnecting with this moment of affection. ❤️