Breaking Bread.

I once knew someone fond of the expression "breaking bread," a simple though exquisitely layered term despite its biblical roots (600 references). To sit with, to commune, to get to the heart of a matter; the power and bond and intimacy of small gesture.

So when I got an email yesterday from a person I don't know at all well asking if they could bend my ear with some things that were stressing them out, rather than opt for a restaurant I thought it a moment better, more wholly served by "breaking bread." And also that wine might help.

The menu.

I overindulged a bit at the farmer's market this past weekend (it's such a great time for winter produce), so I threw it all together as a stew: carrots and brussel sprouts oven roasted (olive oil, s&p at 350 degrees until tender), two different kale's sauteed in garlic and olive oil, and garbanzo beans all in a curried tomato sauce. Turns out my stressed out guest is vegetarian, so that worked out nicely.

(But we picked up some sourdough and Manchego as a precaution.)

The wine.

Just this week one of my crazy cellar guys gave me a bottle of Pedemont Cellars 2007 Adagio. He's crazy because he comes in, he says hi, I say hi, and then he goes into the cellar. A few minutes later he comes out again and hands me a bottle of wine, and then he disappears into the cellar again to do his thing. No reason and no fanfare. Like maybe I did something that would compel him to want to do that in return, or maybe I said something that made him all weepy with soft generosity. None of that: just because. Blows me away. Anyway, the wine is a blend of 40% Syrah and 60% Sangiovesse. I have no idea what that means, but the label does, fruity and spicy, and let me tell you that label didn't lie. What I really liked about this wine was it was a really nice bottle of wine. It wasn't flashy and it wasn't trying to be the center of attention; no prima donna aspirations here, just a good, solid, full bunch of flavor that was a perfect and willing accompaniment to the meal it shared.

I happened to have too much food that would have gone bad had someone not helped me out with it, and it happened to be vegetarian. I happened to get a call from a vegetarian who needed to be fed. I happened to receive a bottle of wine just this week, for no reason other than just because, that also happened to perfectly accompany the meal on its own terms. A very simple meal, it would seem, born nonetheless of a good amount of coincidence, all come together for the final bread broken, three hours of good conversation in an easy environment. Sometimes the moment's reprieve is all we need.