simply delicious

the man on the radio talk show described various types of cheeses as if they were voluptuous women or travels unknown to exotic lands. such passion, appreciation, and even longing. it was his description of a type of monchego cheese as "excruciatingly delicious", though, that particularly caught my attention. the idea that something can be so intensely delightful that it brings about pain. so good it hurts, if you will. there are very few experiences that are that good and when they come around we'd better damn well notice them. it isn't about being able to just appreciate those as being the singular experiences they warrant; just as much, it's about taking them in and completely filling yourself with them until your cup spills over with joy. those little things that when added together separate those who truly live life and those who just meander through it in a disenchanted haze.

i planted myself near one of the window seats in Madhatters this morning and fired up the laptop, determined to get some work done for awhile. two bites into my breakfast, the pastry chef stepped out from behind his workstation long enough to sit down next to me to partake in his. the bald of his head reflected against the window, the shadows of his upturned mustache waving on either side of that reflection. his eyes caught mine and a wide smile appeared in between two chiseled cheekbones. in heavily accented English he raised his fork to me and said, "bon appetit, madame". i thanked him with a smile of my own and then we sat, strangers only two stools apart, eating together in warm, appreciative silence. minutes later, he finished the contents on his plate and again flagged down my attention. he smiled that same tooth-filled grin as before and this time departed with an "i wish you a good day". i smiled a return goodbye and wished him well, realizing that what just occurred dripped with such simple magnitude. i just had a taste of my own excruciatingly delicious, and not just the homemade granola and yogurt parfait. rather, the silent recognition that perfect moments do exist. like really good cheese and breakfasts shared with pastry chefs named Alfredo (i would later learn his name as the restaurant staff periodically called to him in playful jest). so good it hurts. this man just "gets" it, i'm convinced. it's a secret he not only knows and clearly lives, but thankfully decided to impart upon a stranger one random Monday morning. with just a few perfect phrases tucked inside a similarly perfect morning, my cup overflowed.