I fiercely remember the first time I ate a date – fiercely because it’s one of those memories that feels burnt into my head. And it’s odd because I don’t remember the logistics, where we were, what we were doing, if it was sunny out – I just remember biting into it, my hands sticky, thinking about how it tastes nothing like a raisin (though it looked like an extremely huge one). And I remember looking at my dad and smiling, depositing the little pit in his hand. And that’s it.
So really, I don’t remember, but it is so clear I can taste it in my mouth. Strange, isn’t it?
So in memory of d. on his birthday, I baked some date squares. They are crumbly and full of oats, and they hold just enough of that sweet sticky goodness without being overpowering. And the great thing is, these would be great with substitutes – i.e. blueberry squares would be heavenly.
And speaking of dates, I miss the date man at the Berkeley Farmer’s Market and his bins of all sorts of fresh dates, and how it would kind of make my day to buy myself a quarter pound, stash them in my bag and keep them as a treat for gloomy afternoons in the fifth floor office.