On Food #3: Panettone.
Panettone is like the favourite song I never thought I would have. No matter how many times I listen to it, it never gets old.
Panettone holds a special place in my heart, aside from how delicious it is, it’s the one single food that connects me to childhood memories with my grandma.
We’d spend most Christmases at my grandparents’ house and without fail, my grandma Luisa would bring out a panettone (ahead of the 24th of course) for me and her to enjoy between us two.
We would sit at the dining table and would place the panettone right in front of us, knife at the ready to cut the perfect slice. In case you’ve never thought about it, what is the perfect slice? Is it a slither, a chunk, or a perfectly proportionate triangle? Whoever is serving will either make a call or allow the person being served to use their hand in order to guide how much smaller or bigger the piece should be. Personally, I always like to cut a bigger chunk than I’m told to see what reaction I get. Always the best part of the meal in my opinion.
There was no judgment between us, no matter how big or small the slices were, we both loved panettone for what it was or better yet for what it stood for. A tiny crack in space and time.
Panettone is more of a symbolic food for me, I can’t remember ever tasting an inherently bad or incredibly great one. All the panettone slices I’ve ever eaten are and have always been rather momentous, they form a string of memories within my consciousness, not to compete against each other but to guide me back to the one memory that fuels my love for this sweet bread.
Panettone is like the favourite song I never thought I would have. No matter how many times I listen to it, it never gets old. To me, panettone is a nostalgic guitar riff, the light of dusk pouring through a small window that highlights the dust in the air, unable to settle. Panettone is comforting and wistfully ephemeral. Would it lose its meaning if I ate a whole panettone one in one go? Hard to say, I rather not spoil the magic.