Categories: uncategorized
Date: 07 December 2006 13:11:25
I had a memorable herring.
It was a party thrown by someone who had lived many years in Denmark, and they had gone to the local Danish food shop and bought a large quantity of marinaded herring. And it was absolutely delicious. Amazing stuff - I really couldn't get enough of it.
But you know how it is - memories can be deceptive - colours are brighter, smells sweeter, and tastes improve. All the bad tends to go and the good remains (he says, totally contradicting an earlier post). And, to be fair, that night there was a lot of alcohol flowing, so how much can I trust my ancient memories of that night?
There was a related experience earlier that same year, albeit in a different era, a different country and very different environment. It was summer and a mediterranean summer in a city - stifling in other words. And we knew the theoretical solution was to head for the mountains where the air was fresher and cooler, although we'd never tried it. Then I discovered a zip. The last zip in the country, in fact, although another one has been made since. And the zip went right up into the mountains - 2000 metres above sea level. So we had a day trip - a couple of hours on a train to the foot of the zip, with the countryside getting more and more stunning. And then up, up and up into some of the most amazing scenery I've known. The destination was a monastery cum tourist complex (no, you're right, it's not the most natural of combinations) set by a lake in a bowl surrounded by stunning peaks. An absolutely glorious spot and, yes, nice and cool compared with the city we'd left. I even needed a jumper for the first time in months. What bliss.
A year later I was in the same city, again in the height of summer, again roasting. I remembered the little oasis we'd found the year before and vaguely suggested it to some of the people I was with. But I was tentative because it was so wonderful that I'd started to doubt my memory. I'd started to think it couldn't possibly be as good as I'd remembered. So I ended up going on my own. Still anxious - as I've discovered a lot lately it's dangerous doing something you remember as being good because if it doesn't work out then not only have you disappointment on your hands, but you've tarnished the memory that you used to treasure.
I needn't've worried. It was still stunning. So stunning that, of course, I'm not going to actually say where it was for fear that it will become overrun with hoards of tourists as all my readers (yes, all three of them) rush there. (Except that if you know what a zip is then you'll know where I'm talking about).
And the reason I'm writing all this now is that some weeks ago my wife went to Denmark and bought some tins of marinaded herring back. I've no idea what particular marinades they are in because the Danish labelling is completely impenetrable for me. And it took a while to summon up the courage to open the first tin, because of the fear I mentioned above. But, just like that mountainous retreat, I had no need to worry - the herring tastes just as delicious as my memory told me it would. The gamble paid off - because a treasured memory that you can relive and enjoy again just as much becomes even more special. So now I just need to book some tickets back to those mountains.