Epic day from Hell becomes Legit night from Heaven.

Epic day from Hell becomes Legit night from Heaven.
By: Carl-Henri Boulos

Dedicated to Laura

I am not the only one for whom many of life's most intimate details come flooding back at the sight, smell and taste of particular foods. Everyone I speak to seems to have a favorite or, in some cases, a most hated dish with which they can recall particular moments of their lives. In many cases the taste or smell of a sweet, a cake or an entire meal is capable of painting a picture with richer, deeper brush strokes than any snapshot in their photograph album. It is curious that, while I struggle to remember my mobile phone number or grapple helplessly to recall the closest of friends' names when I am required to introduce them to someone, the merest sniff of a dish will remind me of something that may have happened at even an early age of my childhood.


One memory that I can think of was nearly a year ago, I had gotten in some car trouble and was going to miss a dinner date with a friend. My dream car had once again blown it’s motor, for once due to something that I did not cause. She had offered to reschedule but the fact that we had planned this for months made me want to go. She knew how much this car meant to me and the fact that we had also shared memories with this car. It had happened earlier that morning. I always enjoyed myself with this person in question, so throughout the day I debated how to get there. I avoided home like the plague, wondering how I could tell my parents that my motor blew again. The last time it was not covered due to warranty because of the modifications I had done to the engine. I had another car, but had given it up to my mother since she left her car in Montreal. My mother hated the fact that I was always driving a sports car around now and knew something would be wrong if I asked to borrow her car. As time was fast approaching all I could think of was this dinner date. I had always cooked for her when we were together and this would be her first time cooking for me. Many of my friends knew this girl and how much she meant to me and had apologized for not being able to lend me their cars due to the fact they had work or school. When finally my mother had told me I could use her car, she really didn’t though. I saw the car in my driveway, pulled out my spare keys and knew I was about to open a can of worms. I stopped for one moment before opening the door, and thought to myself, “It’s worth it.”

I departed Boca and got on the turnpike heading to Miami. As I was heading down, all I could think of was the smile on her face. I drove with the wind, always checking my rear view mirror for that pesky policemen that always seem to get me at the wrong time. At once I remember the many times I’ve taken this road all for the similar goal. The last time I was pulled over doing 120mph, trying to reach my destination knowing I was late. The officer in the end let me go after I told him I was on my way to pick a this girl for valentines day and was running late. He had complimented me on the car and also told me to slow down because he wouldn’t want a pretty girl who has someone driving from Boca to Miami just to take them back to Boca waiting. I laughed and thanked them. Needless to say that was a great valentines night since I cooked and dancing under the stars can’t be beat. I’m thrown back into the drive and that thought had reassured me, “She’s worth it.”

Once I arrived in Miami, her apartment condo had a view of the beach and boats that were out at the time. I sat there while she poured me a glass of wine, and enjoyed the view with the dim lights. She began to explain what was for dinner, I could almost sense her nervousness, defused by her smile that could make an army lay down it’s weapons. As she talks I can’t help but feel content in my decision to not cancel tonight. When the introduction of the night is complete, all I can muster up to say is, “Thank You.” We go on to talk about the day that simply started by, “Lisa is dead, a part of me cried for you.” Lisa, the name I had so dubbed my car, for if at that time in my life I could boldly say that both my loves name started with an L. As she started cooking the rest of the meal, I could smell the food, she made a mango mustard chicken with twice baked stuffed potato and a wonderful salad with balsamic vinaigrette. As she cooked it the smell was so intoxicating that it had literally made me forget my troubles. As we talked I kept getting text from my car club which she had come to know each and everyone from my many sponsored cookouts which I would host. It seems whenever there was a memory involving Laura somewhere there was food. Laura the one person, that shared my passion for food and never let me think she felt weird out by it, if anything she appreciated it.

Once we sat down and started to eat, I sliced the chicken that was perfectly cooked and couldn’t help but stop for a minute after tasting it. Something so simple had almost brought me to tears, it wasn’t just the fact that the food was good. It was because this person meant a lot to me, and that in this moment of time this was exactly what I needed. My life felt as if it was falling apart and this food would signify a grand moment in time for me. This was the first time I also had a twice baked stuffed potato and it has stayed with me for the longest time. To this day I think of it as the best potato dish I have ever tasted. The acidity of the mango mustard had made the chicken so tender and moist and the potato stuffed with cheese was causing driving emotions in me.

Once the initial dinner was done, we indulged in a common practice of ours that was smoking flavored tobacco out of a hookah. This did enhance the night and memory, for the flavor was mint. It was a sort of an escape from a stressful day, this memory is enchanted by her smile every time I think about it. The memories flow back every time I smoke mint hookah.

Finally as a capstone to this dinner, she got up and made a berry jam from scratch and then placed it on top of a waffle with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. This dessert was beyond astonishing for once again it was just so simple and so delicious. It made me feel good. I felt that my overwhelming joy was a surprise to her, but if it made her happy that I was happy, which I was, the food was amazing. To think this memory had almost not happen due to a car, the first time my friend would cook for me.