On the first night of school, we attended a Scran Salon (basically just a bunch of folks talking about food) over in Fountainbridge near the end of the canal (or the head of it, I'm not sure). It's a fun social gathering and we've been making nice friends through this group - and broadening our horizons.
For starters we had cauliflower with tahini sauce and pickled, roasted chestnuts - WHAT? Delicious. For dinner, I had the venison. Don't judge, people eat every sort of meat here, as they've done for thousands of years. I am embracing the local culture (except for gluten, which I just can't do.)
With every bite, I was thrust back into what must have been past lives for me. I felt layers of fabric around my legs from my thick skirts. I felt the sting of a warm fire on a cold night, leaves under my feat and my backside cold against a fallen log. I enjoyed the bounty of the day's hunt as I smelled wet leaves and tinder. I tasted Mead and heard the clinks of metal mugs. I don't know how to explain it. Is it some sort of synethsesia? I didn't know food could trigger such thoughts. The meal made me feel connected to thousands of years of history and stories. It was probably the best of my life. No lie.
But eventually our plates were empty, we were full. And the table was no longer ours. So we walked out into the cool night for our leisurely walk home. Edinburgh loves to play with colored lights, so this was our view. Because, why not?