“What would he not do for her, the daughter of the spice-seller; she who smelt of cloves and cinnamon, whose laughter had the timbre of ankle-bells, whose eyebrows were like black wisps of the night and whose hair was the night itself? For her he would cross the salt desert!”
My new obsession – giant cinnamon sticks! I had an errand to run in Chinatown a few days ago and instead of walking straight home I decided to meander through the streets. It was quite a systematic meander because I was looking for glass jars for my hot sauce. Up and down each street, looking in every kitchen shop I could find. As I passed one of the many apothecary shops, baskets of dried mushrooms and scallops and almonds spilling out onto the sidewalk, I saw what looked like giant cinnamon sticks. I couldn’t help but peer closer, sniffing the giant roll of bark to see if my eyes were correct. With all the competing scents I couldn’t make out much and yelled into the shop for help. They told me that indeed it was cinnamon and I knew I had to have it.