Trust and building character
Each of us brings a piece of ourselves that exposes our characters
One little incident, a few words, can leave us changed forever.
“I think I am in trouble,”
said Andy, who looked content and thoughtful with his cigar. We had just had our last meal together after seven days of culinary immersion in the Azores.
Andy had stepped out of the bistro ahead of the others and was looking comfortable and calm, in a chair.
Portuguese words come to mind to describe his manner: a bit facile, or tranquil.
I looked him over and said, “Tell me more.”
He was waiting for us to finish up before we all headed to the airport, less than seven minutes away. We were surrounded by the distinctive white brick mosaics that line every narrow street on the island of São Miguel, where travelers and residents have walked since the sixteenth century. The cafe was on a side street off the main drag of Ponte Degada, just a few blocks from the harbor of the Atlantic Ocean.
Although he looked calm, Andy said he was concerned about his leg. He had been complaining of swelling in his leg since he arrived, but it had seemed to be getting better. So much so that one day, we made arrangements for Andy to go off by himself and play golf. But after the game, the swelling and pain in his leg seemed more intense.
I felt a sense of panic sweep over me despite his serenity. He had just sent a photo of his leg to his physical therapist, who recommended he go to the hospital immediately. But it was because of the characters I had come to know and trust, including Andy, that I knew we had this.
I had met Andy, whom I had come to know as a gentle soul with depth and character, only seven days earlier, but he felt like an old friend. We’d shared our stories over many dinners the previous week. I learned how he had met his wife, the wife who told me his survival story from 9/11, when his company lost 67 employees in the World Trade Center. Andy came to each table with an emotional and thoughtful presence. Presence is what I felt in his company. He asked questions and laughed easily, in a confident way. His observations were keen and subtle. I laughed through several meals at Andy’s remarks to me when he said he was beginning to have sympathy for my husband, who was back in the United States.
Once Andy and his wife were on their way to the hospital, the rest of us continued to the airport. I called from the airport to make sure that Andy was in good hands; not only had our hosts been able to check in on him, but so had their daughter, who was a nurse at the hospital. Evervisto, our driver for the past week, would help them get settled in a hotel and take care of any needs, as they would need to stay three extra days and make daily trips to the hospital. After Andy and his wife left for the hospital, we continued to the airport. I called from the airport to check on Andy; not only were our hosts able to look in on him, but their daughter, a nurse at the hospital, was also able to check on him. Our driver for the week, Evervisto, would help them get settled in a hotel and take care of any needs, as they would need to stay three extra days and make daily trips to the hospital.
We’re all in trouble at some time in our lives, and those times can haunt us, change us, make us more of who we are. As it turned out, Andy had deep vein thrombosis (DVT), and if Andy had gotten on the plane, it could have been fatal.
I recently reached out to Andy to ask him about the details of his unexpected extended stay, and he not only complimented the vascular surgeon as attractive, thorough, and reassuring, but also noted the modern new hospital with a digital system that easily accepted his $2,000 payment made through his American Express card. He said he had had very good care, and the Portuguese language, which he and his wife had spoken since their time in the Peace Corps in Brazil, made the experience all the more pleasant, despite the daily injections into his abdomen. He wrapped it up simply: “I have been in way worse trouble, but perhaps not in such a wonderful place.”
Our week in the Azores was a culinary exploration with many characters of the food world: chefs, guides, hosts, farmers, and fishermen—all of us coming together to walk in each other’s lives for a brief time. Those who cooked, drove, hosted, farmed, or fished opened their lives to us. Their surroundings had been created from their sweat and their tender care, and it was the attention they brought, their passions, that move us and make us more thoughtful.
I am searching for words that describe this. Terroir of experience? MAYBE. I am known for bringing new meaning to words, often guilty of malapropisms or “dogberries.” Can I apply the word “terroir” to the distinct quality of a person or persons? We use the word for wine or sometimes food, but not for the character of people; but sometimes there are no words that capture the ripeness of a person who changes our experience. An experience that has powerful memories. “Terroir” refers to the unique combination of environmental factors that contribute to the distinct character and quality of a wine or other agricultural product. It encompasses elements such as climate, soil, altitude, and topography, all of which influence the flavor profile and overall taste of the final product.
Wrapping up a week that began with strangers, I see that this trip brought together the experiences of many characters. It was a small group of fourteen, mostly people who had lived the best parts of their lives but still had a bucket list of places and experiences to explore. We travelers cross the ocean to experience a different culture through food and environment. Each of us brings a piece of ourselves that exposes our characters. And we influence each other and the community that we explore. We visit with hosts and find our commonalities, and we’re curious about our differences. All of us come together, share each other’s worlds, and observe the different influences.
The stories of our past are a natural part of who we are. Most of us would admit that we are no longer the same as our younger selves. I think I have spent much of my adult life resolving who I was as a younger me. And back to this terroir of humanness. The terroir of flavors and the terroir of people run side by side. It’s the building of our foundations—our experiences, what happens to us when we’re in trouble—that makes us unique. Finding the distinctive characteristics—the simple beauty in who we become mirrors the terroir of the land.
We left as friends, knowing we have friends we can count on if we’re in trouble. This terroir of characters is what I want to seek in all strangers I meet. We each bring a perspective that has made us who we are.
Living in these uncertain times, it's essential to know that being with those who bring laughter and insight into who we are can bring new understandings. Understandings as to who we are as humans: those we do not know, those we know very well, and those we are just finding out about. We’re all in trouble; maybe the only way to save us is to share and be there for each other. I know this understanding of worlds makes me hungry for more, and I am grateful.
Today I share a recipe. This was what I ordered for lunch at our last meal together last fall. It is one that I continue to recreate. It is so flavorful and enjoyable! Don’t skip on getting a good-quality hazelnut oil, or truffle oil, and hazelnuts, as they make the dish!
Cauliflower with Hazelnuts and Truffle Oil
Link here for the recipe
From our favorite restaurant in Ponta Delgada
Every year, on our trip to Soa Miquel, we sneak in one last lunch before heading to the airport.
Same little place. Same crooked blue door. The same gasp when an unusual seasonal dish appears on the table. This year, it was roasted cauliflower purée topped with arugula, toasted hazelnuts, and a whisper of truffle oil.
Consider joining me this fall for a Culinary Experience in the Azores! Let's find our place together.