from istanbul it was a half-day's drive in to burhaniye, though we had car trouble, as we are wont to do. the rev counter in the little alfa's engine gave out just as we were about to hit 200 on a straightaway. so we had to be towed, limping, into nearby balikesir, and from there picked up and brought home.
spring is kissing even cool burhaniye. today they winds blew and blew, tearing leaves from the trees, but it was warm in the sun. the flowers are in. the olive trees are reaching, not shrinking. wheat growing in the front yard of the restaurant, red poppies pushing up from surprising places, silvery lavendar in the herb gardens. behind the restaurant you can hear the scratchy meowing of two kittens beneath the woodpile, tucked into a corner beside the cement woodfire stove. the stove is made of cement that heats up every morning for baking bread. smart cat, that mama cat. the kittens are tiny. i gave them cream in a little saucer. they are too small to know what to do with it.
tonight we are at mehmet's restaurant listening to chamber music by mozart and dining on tripes. the tinkling harpsichord plays off the silkysmooth minced texture on the tongue, and raw baby garlic. it is good to be back.
