Today is about getting back to hyper-local love. As I came back from the bus stop yesterday afternoon, I saw a crinkly white bag on top of my mailbox. Oh Jeez, I thought, did someone leave something nasty as a “quit being such a busybody” message? (I mean, really, I thought it was dog crap or something.)
It was not something nasty. It was something very, very good.
A few days earlier, my neighbors and I had been waxing poetic on the joys of pastry, and one neighbor claimed that the best pastry is Sfogliatelle from Nicolo’s Bakery in Montclair. I admitting to not particularly liking pastry with cream or gooey insides, and he said, “Oh, you’ll like this.”
And I did. I really, really did. Thank you, neighbor!