The best book I read last year was “Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted” by Suleika Jaouad. I’d had it on my list for most of the year, but was afraid of how difficult it would be to read about her battle with cancer, and if I would be up to it mentally and emotionally. And well, it was heart wrenching. I held my breath at many points, felt my body tense. I cried with her loss and grief.

I marvelled at her prose, her descriptions, her ability to step outside herself and reflect on her life and her choices and what it all meant. She’s one of those writers who, when I’m reading her work, my brain cannot comprehend how brilliantly written it is. And ultimately, she leaves the reader with hope, and much to think about (an understatement).

She also writes on Substack. I haven’t yet gone through past posts, but all kinds of creative and inspiring people have worked with her to provide writing prompts, and this week’s is about the idea of hardwiring happiness. Amy Nguyen, a career happiness strategist writes: Reliving beautiful moments, delighting in small happy things, creating opportunities for joy, and visualizing an exciting future are great ways to hardwire happiness.

I realized that this where my love of food stems from. I can conjure countless memories of family dinners around the table, I can close my eyes and taste the dishes that my mom cooked in rotation when I was a kid, I can recall with uncanny specificity the meals my husband and I have eaten while on various trips 10+ years ago. Seattle, 2011: these incredible corn fritters with kale (before it was trendy) at Palace Kitchen, with the best coconut cream pie I’ve ever tasted for dessert.

I can very, very clearly remember the time that my step-dad made peanut sweet potato soup, and how the 5 of us kids (yes! FIVE!) told him in no uncertain terms how revolting it was.

I revealed to my mom once that one of my life goals is to “never eat a bad meal.” This delighted her; I didn’t realize that it wasn’t one of everyone’s life goals. For me, trying new recipes is about creating opportunities for joy each week. Everything else can go sideways and feel shitty, but at least I know what I’m making for dinner, that it’s (usually) nutritionally balanced, and that I’m going to love eating it. It’s about intentionality. Deciding that how I nourish my body and my family’s matters. I have to eat, and it’s going to taste good.

I bet you, too, have a lot of beautiful moments you can relive around food. The best latte you’ve ever had- was it because of the latte or was it because of who was with you, or where you were? How about the cake you ate at your child’s first birthday party- you just survived the marathon that is the first year of parenting; literally any thing tastes incredible in that situation, as it should. And can you pinpoint the best meal you’ve ever had, and why?

I have tears in my eyes as I think about all the people I love and the memories with them that are inextricably tied with that first bite, flavours dancing across my tongue, laughter and smiles and deep conversation surrounding us.

So, as Amy says, let’s make it a habit and watch the wonders unfold.

Ok it’s story time:

In “olden times” according to my kids, just before Facebook came into existence, long before Uber and when I had a cellphone with T4 texting, I was in my first semester of university, taking all pre-med courses, which included CHEM 163 aka Organic Chemistry. *SHUDDER*

At the risk of sounding a bit conceited, I am a strong academic. I love learning, and if I could have made money rather than paid money to be a professional student, I may have considered it. But it would not have involved Organic Chemistry. It was awful. My brain could not fully comprehend what was going on at any point during that course, and I think I burned the 3D molecule model I had to buy after I was done. Needless to say, at finals time, this was the exam that stressed me out the most.

So I did what every 18 year old does when cramming for an exam: I drank (a pot of) coffee, and snacked on whatever I could find, in this case sliced bananas and a literal bowl of melted chocolate.

My favourite move as a student was to go to sleep around 12:00 or 1:00 and wake up at 4:00 or 5:00 to finish studying. I think I read somewhere that sleeping in a 4 hour increment was somehow preferable because of your sleep cycle? At any rate, it was awful, and I felt awful when I woke up that morning (wonder why) and then I started throwing up and that was awful too. I regretted the bananas and chocolate.

I know you’re on the edge of your seat here: I did make it to the exam. I even passed the course! It was the worst mark I ever had. But, you’re wondering, “What does this have to do with the best thing you ate this week?”

Well friends, for years after this experience, I was unable to stomach the much beloved combo of bananas and chocolate (in any form). Even after I felt like I could eat the two together again, Organic Chemistry and bananas + chocolate are so strongly associated that it takes away from the enjoyment.

And now you’re like, “Ok but get to the point!”

The point is that up until two days ago, I thought banana bread was unequivocally better with chocolate chips added. Every banana bread I’ve tried without, was just kind of meh to me. But because I also didn’t love bananas and chocolate together, I mostly have just made banana bread for other people. Why even make banana bread then, you ask? Well I don’t know if you realize this, but it’s the law to regularly forget about 2-3 bananas ripening on your counter to the point that you HAVE to make banana bread.

Enter: Claire Saffitz’s Almond Butter Banana Bread from Dessert Person

Featuring both an almond butter swirl on top and almond butter in the batter, the chef’s kiss is the cardamom and coconut notes. SO GOOD UGH.

YA’LL. I ate two slices back to back; it was so good. Nary a chocolate chip in sight, this is by far the best banana bread I’ve ever made or eaten. It made me so happy, and was the baking project I needed on a Saturday morning when I felt like nothing too basic nor too difficult. It was perfection.

As we walk, the familiar tune of “When You Wish Upon a Star” gradually gets louder. The sound of nostalgia. We approach a line-up to get in. Normally, line-ups bring a feeling of dread, impatience. Not here. Here, line-ups are excitement.

A new song plays. “Let It Go.” The modern anthem for feeling free to be who you are, including and especially if that inner human is wearing sequin-adorned Minnie Mouse ears.

We get through the gates, and are walking up Main Street. It’s never quiet here; there’s always music, laughter, happy screams, shouting. But on Main Street, the smells overtake the sound. Popcorn, coffee, cupcakes, cotton candy… all of it wafting and mingling together in a way that can only be described as perfection.

We’ve never been here this early, for ‘rope drop,’ which is unofficially the only time a committed Disneyland-goer should arrive. The anticipation is palpable. I’m more excited than my kids. I have the immense privilege of having fun myself AND being present in their fun. One day they’ll know.

It’s having an awareness that memories are being made as they are being made, rather than looking back and realizing it afterward. A heightened awareness that allows you to see more clearly, smell more deeply, hear more acutely, and yes, taste every sugar crystal and speck of cinnamon on that inexplicably delicious churro. It’s fullness, the gift of being present.

And sure, it’s a big corporation that’s working to make you feel that way, with their Cast Members fulfilling dreams on the daily, their rides designed to delight and surprise, their stores encouraging you to spend spend spend. But I don’t care. The magic is real.

……………

This is the least magical most magical day ever. We left the hotel late. We got lost. Why was I in charge of navigation? We’ve already been rained on twice. We are tired. Why are we so tired? Oh yes, because we’ve been walking 3875982734 steps per day.

I have the simultaneous urge to rally the troops and to take a break from the troops. It starts to rain again, the pounding of drops on the pavement drowning out the tune of Hakuna Matata. Hakuna Matata this, Simba!

We’re right by It’s A Small World. We cover the stroller in plastic bags and make a dash for the boats, swaying gently in the lazy river, welcoming passengers aboard (you just might want to dry off the seat first).

Aaahhh… a ride that is inside. We are dry. Oh wait. We are very cold. On a different day, this air conditioning would be a reprise from the heat. On Day One, the voices of these worldly animatronics were delightful. It would appear that we have answered the question of, “how many times is too many times to ride ‘It’s A Small World’?”

We have reached the end. The literal end of the ride and the metaphorical fizzling out of the magic. I’ve been here before. Literally and metaphorically. I know now that the magic will return, maybe today, or maybe after a year. Either way, it will be back and I will be there.

For now, I rally: “Who wants a churro?”