“No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me.” —Marcel Proust, “In Search of Lost Time”
You know the gilded feeling when fall is in the air. When you remember to pause to take a breath of the bay leaves and the pink ladies. When an aroma flits through your mind and brings back a memory. First day of school. Apples and cinnamon and pumpkins. Cider and dark roasted coffee and mulled wine.
I’m thinking of Proust and the madeleines. The bite and the memories. And I will say that I am not a fan of madeleines, but I am a fan of memories. At the Bovine recently, I started to think about measuring my life in sugar cookies (pardon me, T.S. Eliot).
When my kids were little, a special treat was a cookie at the Bovine. The best part was choosing which shape. The froggie with the chocolate eyes? Maybe a bunny with the colored sprinkles. There were little shortbreads for little hands. Affordable. Shareable. Won’t spoil your appetite.
The Bovine has been a staple on main street for 34 years. This means I had my first bite of a Bovine pastry when I was 20. (I remember 20.) I think about all the different moments in my life that have been accentuated by a muffin, a blueberry scone, a slice of raspberry tart, a cup of hearty soup, a piece of gourmet pizza. I recall the many times I’ve met with a friend and sat on the stoop and shared something delicious while musing over our lives.
I have a photo of my dad and one of his best friends on the bench, sipping their coffee, watching the world go by. Or, at least, the bicycles.
The Bovine has been there for us in joy. It was there for us when my husband was in the hospital and I stopped by almost every morning for a box of treats for the nurses. Sharing sweetness in a tough time. Creating a camaraderie over crumb cake.
Next time you’re downtown, treat yourself to a morsel of pleasure. Maybe we’ll meet up and dunk our cookies together.