Remembering the Tastes of Summer

On a normal Wednesday afternoon in our kitchen, the first thing that caught my eye: the pile of golden raspberries sitting unpretentiously on the counter--like little beads of sunshine, a warm reminder of summer's fading presence.

I watched as our mixologist Todd Thrasher handed a pair of scissors to our sommelier. "Get me some lavender from the garden, please," he said. I imagined the inventory in his head that would allow for such a statement, a sudden sign of inspiration: first, knowledge of what is plentiful in the garden at any given time, and second, a file of every separate taste, compartmentalized and remembered when new drinks are thought up and concocted in his head.

I read somewhere that taste is the hardest thing to remember. Reaction to taste, feelings a taste brought up, those are easy to remember. But very few have the ability to store the actual memory of taste. Taking a peek in the kitchen is like walking into a room filled with people who share that ability. And eating from the kitchen is an attempt to learn this ability, to savor and hope to remember every taste the season brings.