When there's nothing to write about

I've been going through a bit of a dry spell on the writing front. A lot has been happening personally and at work lately that have prevented me from putting together an entry I could be proud of. Nearly every night this past week I've stared at my empty blog space, my curser blinking accusedly at me. I started and stopped, started and stopped, all the while the words of my prose professor ringing in my ears "don't rewrite the beginning, until you get to the end." But I just didn't have a solid ground to stand on. This Thursday night, however, I had a life changing experience with a truffle focaccia. This was the kind of dish that inspires symphonies.

My cousin and I were sitting at the bar in the cozy wood and exposed brick room as we waited for a table when suddenly, the woodsy, rich scent of truffles tickled our noses. We turned to feast our eyes upon the most beautiful focaccia we had ever seen, and resolved to order it the second we sat down. When it finally arrived before us it was perfection in its purest form. The focaccio was set atop a long wooden cutting board, as though it had arrived directly from nonna's kitchen. The dough was light and airy, crisp on the bottom, everything focaccia should be. The top was covered in tangy cheese, perfectly balancing the rich, earthyness of the truffles and mushrooms. Finally, it was finished with9 a dash (or several dashes) of truffle oil glistening in the soft candle light.

I did not undestend the truly mystical power of food until this encounter. Truffle oil is currently on my grocery list.