Those of you that have had the pleasure of taking a train from points north to New York City understand what a spectacular ride it is. Our flagship river eases its way through a lush valley toward the City, wide, gentle and proud. In the past year of so I’ve seen bald eagles hunting in the early morning, a truly spectacular sight. Yesterday morning I was taking the ride through a grey and dreary fog. Focused on work and irritated that the train was late, I was hardly taking advantage of my window seat and ignoring the view that so often makes me almost happy to get up at 5:30 to catch an early train. Then I turned to look at West Point standing tall at the banks of the river and could hardly turn away until we hit Yonkers. Two sailboats sat silently in the fog while ducks and even a few swans fished with the first touches of fall colors providing the perfect backdrop. Although the weather channel app on my phone told me it was a balmy 60-something, I imagined a crisp chill in the air and longed for the smell of fall.
I wanted to get off the train right that second and go make soup. And risotto. And applesauce. And squash loaded with brown sugar and maple syrup. (real syrup of course, there is no room in my life for any imitation). I love summer and the bright, fresh flavors it brings, I really do, but I am ready to spend chilly Sundays filling my house with the rich, comforting smells of the kind of food you just don’t make in the summer. It’s time.