Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

I drive up the unfamiliar street, looking at the numbers on each house until I find the one we want. I park and we get out of the car. My internal temperature spikes–though it’s August, it isn’t hot, yet the sweat beads on my brow as I retrieve the dishes I made for the pot-luck.

Yesterday, I made quinoa tabbuleh salad and white bean hummus. I picked the cucumbers from my garden, trimmed and minced the spring onions, selected the best sprigs of parsley, mint, and coriander. I whisked the tahini and lemon juice into a cream, blending it with the bean and garlic puree, testing the flavors repeatedly until the profile of earthy/salty/tart was just where I wanted it.

I took extra time and care with each task, not to show off my skills or with the intent to impress, but simply to keep my mind occupied so it wouldn’t be thinking forward to this moment, walking up the steps of a house, preparing to enter foreign territory, about to meet new people. (more…)

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