Halifax is a lover you can know for a lifetime and never exhaust her sweet mysteries. I wrote about her before, nearly two years ago.
As I’ve gotten to know this haunting place and my own internal ghosts more, i’ve come to appreciate how much a part of me this city will always be. My heart is filled with wanderlust, and I feel compelled to know, love and explore the world, but this is the home of that part of my core ever devoted to memory. I imagine I’ll take the time to live in other cities and see the world, but Halifax holds a part of my heart the back pocket of her tattered, worn jeans.
After learning the sad news that Sunday brought, I set about making donairs for Susana and I. Donairs are a food that Halifax is well known for, and the only distinctly Nova Scotian dish I could think of outside Acadian cuisine. Since Canada is so very much a multicultural country, it’s often hard to find things that are unique. This is usually a blessing because diversity is a blessing, but try picking out something found nowhere else and you may have a tough time.
I made the donairs with immitation ground beef (I’m a vegetarian) and the recipe turned out very well except for one problem. Instead of forming a loaf, the donair “meat” crumbled when I tried to slice it. I don’t know if it was the faux meat or some mistake I made in preparing it that caused the problem. I suppose I’ll have to try to make them again sometime to see where I went wrong (and because I really enjoyed having them again after a couple years without).
I slipped away during the donair preparation to buy some supplies and, more importantly to my heart, buy some roses for Susana. I had proof of my lack of domestication when I returned. We were unable to find a suitable vase for the flowers in all of my apartment. Instead, we ended up placing them in a beer mug. I can assure you I have a great deal of sophistication, truly.
Sadly, the roses have begun to wilt during this sunny day. I’ve tried to tend to them well, but I suppose they do need to dry eventually. Unlike the flowers, my memories are still fresh and I hope to record as many of them as I am able to so that I’ll always have a record of them, even if I should end up some aging, cut flower of a man. Should we not remember the beauty we encounter fondly and pay tribute to it with care?