I’ve started reading Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. He recalls time spent in Paris in the 1920’s. Vivid little nuggets flash by here and there. My favorite scene so far is of him sitting in a cafe drinking cafe au lait and writing, being “disturbed” (i.e. aroused) by a pretty girl while he writes. He was married at the time, but Hemingway is Hemingway. A man is a man.

Another image I adore is this one, of his first wife at the time (he had four): “She had a gently modeled face and her eyes and her smile lighted up at decisions as though they were rich presents.”

She had a gentle sweetness. His words embrace her in a glow of sunshine warmth.

Another passage: “Standing there I wondered how much of what we felt on the bridge was just hunger. I asked my wife and she said, “I don’t know, Tatie, There are so many sorts of hunger. In the spring there are more. But that’s gone now. Memory is hunger.”

Memory is hunger…beginning this book collides with my own sentimentality. The final day of an area grocery store was this weekend, coinciding with these last days of winter.

Saturday was the day. I’ve been there twice before in the last week, noticing the stock slowly dwindle and the skeleton shelves emerge. It’s sad and empty. P&C hasn’t been a grocery I’ve frequented, but they did have great donuts. My parents and I popped in once in a while to grab things we ran out of because it’s the closest to home.

There are others I miss. Stores and restaurants from my childhood woven into my internal fabric. There was Red Barn, a fast food joint my parents took me to when I was a little girl. I usually ate chicken fingers and french fries while I swiveled around on a red stool. There was Acme, a grocery store Mom and I most frequented during that time also. I had a thing for the bulk food section: I loved almond windmill cookies (spectacular when dunked) and Brach’s caramels. I also had to get my animal crackers in the carnival cage box, swinging it by its string handle while running up and down the aisles. Super Duper was another girlhood grocery store, but that was more about being with Grandma H, following her around while she carefully shopped with her coupons.

Sentimentality serves a purpose. You can rest in what was known to you at that time, sifting through history and clinging to those highlights for a while. They are comforting. Those were sweet moments, but they must be filed away and not thought about as often. Room must be made for the new sweet moments. As much as I’ve loved what I had, I love the new. The new things that shoot up in the old dirt, fertilized by change.

Change doesn’t work in the ways expected. What is expected doesn’t turn out that way. Two ways to react: Disappointment and regret. Or wonder and acceptance. Something grows in a different direction, and that IS exciting. It should be embraced. Because it may promise something…better.

The old Super Duper now houses The Salvation Army. In its old location, The Salvation Army was cramped and dirty. Now everything has its own place. You don’t need to paw through stuffed animals or wedge your weight against the dense hangers on the clothing racks.

The Salvation Army is next to Byrne Dairy, which has also closed. I can’t walk over to get soft-serve after a satisfying thrift experience. Boo-hoo. But I’m sure something else will come along. Eventually.

Mom and I walked into P&C Saturday, fifteen minutes before they finally closed. The day before, I bought condiments there I never tried before. Sofrito. Inglehoffer honey mustard. Cocoa powder with chili. Dinosaur BBQ sauce. Major Grey’s Chutney. Paul Prudhomme’s Seasoning Salt.

In the last trip, very little was left. It was grouped together at the end of one aisle. I noticed bottles of angostura aromatic bitters. I’ve never used them before. These are usually used in cocktails, but maybe I could work them into something.

The next day, that something came to fruition. In honor of Red Barn and my fond chicken memories, I made chicken wings. With some of the items I bought. The sauce evolved from a base of the angostura bitters. Then a few glugs of soy sauce and rice vinegar. Always tasting with each step, finding the balance I liked. I then added the chutney. I ended up using the entire jar. I microplaned ginger in and added some seasoning salt. It ended with a dash of orange juice. It looked swampy.

I tossed the wings into a ziploc bag along with the sauce. It marinated for a few hours.

I then baked it all in a lasagna pan at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Juicy. A bright new thing. Please arrive, more bright new things.