A couple of people have written me about what I miss about Houston. One says they never missed food when they left their home, another observes I must be homesick.

Let's face it, on one level food is just that food, sustenance. But, food works on yet another level. It gives one a sense of place, evocative in its ability to feed memory. When I long for Christi's pasta, I am missing the conversation, the people, the at-one-time-in-our-lives Wednesday night ritual. If Christi had made cabbage, then by God I would be pining for cabbage.

Half an Italian toast with one egg over easy would not taste nearly as good without the company of Erin or Suzanne or Nancy..Lisa...Monique……. or any of the other women who would come out for breakfast. And, a tuna bagel, that's a Sunday afternoon family bike ride. I've been going to that crazy bagel place since I first moved to Houston. At the time I loved it because it was the only place that could make bagels like they did in New Jersey!

And, I'm quite sure I can make my own raspberry pie thank you very much. But, when Judy would call up and say, "Go get some ice cream, I got some pie" it was irresistible. Hot out of the oven, sitting at Neighbor Judy's table it tasted of friendship and community.

If one is lucky enough to exercise choice, when it's beyond filling the belly, then food is emotional and powerful. It is why every single time I make and eat plum cake I think of my mother (and sometimes shed a tear). Plum cake embodies the crisp fall days of my New Jersey childhood. It is my beautiful German mother recreating a piece of her home.

So, no, I guess it's true, I really don't miss the food so much. It's the people with whom I ate it.