In the winter, my quick bread repertoire too easy falls into the same old banana bread rut. Sure, I might jazz it up with chocolate chips or even some nuts, but at the end of the day I'm always dreaming about the day that blueberries and peaches are back in season. Luckily fate intervened and ended my boredom, specifically by throwing a bag of figs at my face.
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The cliff dropped precipitously into the sea. The so-called road down to the port was more of a endless, stomach turning series of switchbacks so tight that as we rounded the corners I was afraid the back tires of our rental car would swing out, pulling us off the road. Yes, mostly I was just afraid, and eventually I closed my eyes and tried not to vomit as other cars of blithely speeding Spaniards kept trying to make their way past us up the mountain. A two lane road the width of a Ford Explorer. Dios mio.
Growing up, I thought there was only one kind of salt. It came in a navy blue canister with a picture of a girl carrying an umbrella and the slogan, "When it rains, it pours." It wasn't until my early twenties that I discovered a whole world of salts beyond Morton's. And it was a revelation.