As the end of our very peaceful week in the mountains approaches, David and I have found ourselves quite ready to pick up our son and make a slow, leisurely drive home. Last night as we celebrated Shabbat, we missed Son's high little voice singing the blessings over candles and wine along with us, then leading the blessing over bread.
We've had amazing luck finding local food in this small mountain town, and we filled our Shabbat plates with it. It did not start out that way. After tasting how sweet the local white wine is, we chickened out of buying local red--and we bought a plain white novena candle at the grocery (since we found neither beeswax tapers nor the standard-issue Shabbat candles).
The bread, however, was local: homemade white bread bought at a roadside grocery stand. After we tasted it, I marvelled that it tasted just like challah. David laughed and said, "Not eggy enough. It tastes like Wonderbread!" Only then did I realize that I had never tasted Wonderbread. (Nor have I ever tasted a twinkie, a fact which I suspect the Yarn Harlot would applaud.)
For the meal, we had chow-chow canned by a vendor at the Brevard farmer's market, along with zucchini and banana peppers (from another vendor), which we stir-fried in butter. The okra and tomatoes came from the roadside store where we bought the "challah" we blessed earlier. Lima beans over rice (not local) rounded out the meal.
For dessert? Fresh scuppernongs--North Carolina's state fruit!
Although it was a lovely meal in a lovely place, I am looking forward to celebrating next week with all three of us, home in Takoma Park.
Shabbat shalom, y'all.