In New Haven: savoring the warmth of...

A daughter, living here, in New Haven, comes around the corner. She takes my breath away. How can a child of mine be so disarmingly poised, so much in the adult world already? She is five weeks older than when I last saw her. I am five weeks older too. I am brimming with questions. And stories. I am afraid I will monopolize the conversation.

We walk down to Miso. Sushi is an art here. [Even more importantly, it is fresh and honest.]

Next to us, at a long table, a dozen or so Japanese men are engaged in a lively debate over… I don’t know what. I am always at a loss around their language. But it is a welcome exuberance. We are insignificant next to it. We lose ourselves in our food and in each other.

It is late. The wine bottle has been studied and tested repeatedly for any last remaining drops. There haven’t been any for a while. A sip of tea and a last shared plate of food. The ultimate comfort food: a warm, drizzled with chocolate and sprinkled with almonds, fried banana.