IT'S NOT AUGUST WITHOUT PALACSINTA

A story of longing and summer without Hungary

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Hello,

I write with the taste of fall melancholy fresh on my lips. The first cool day, with no promise of a dip at the pool. No more stone fruit. The last of the corn shorn, for the week anyway. 

With the solstice nearing, I had planned a post of late summer pasta, a very special pizza, and a beautiful side dish that reminds me of Capri. Bright with sunshine nearly blazing off the plate straight into your soul. 

But I’ve already written you lots of cheery letters from our summer, and I intend to always write to you from the heart, from my truth. Mostly, this summer has been a deep dive into all of those sunny, delicious bits. Beautiful. Rich with memories. 

But it was summer different from any other for us.