Fäviken

The sun would barely set that day. It would kiss the horizon but never darken the light that held in its own glow.

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I shared, I rode, I laughed, I saved this experience with four other women. We all have different passports. I will never forget this meal, where two of the courses will stand to be one of my top ten dishes of my life.

Earlier, we dipped our bare bodies in the cold summer lake. Our bodies taut with laughter and freeness. The sauna rid us of any past tensions. We filled our bodies with the slowest of foods, the most intentions of foods, preservation that lasts several seasons of foods, the food that never sets.  My friend Lisa, aka Tigermom, had just turned 30. She was serenaded “Happy Birthday” in Swedish by a chorus of that evening’s dining companions. Tomorrow, I would be chasing Lisa down a Swedish mountain on my first ever mountain bike.

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In the interview Magnus gave to LA Times about his decision to close Fäviken, he says,

“I’m not leaving because I’m discontent with the restaurant. I’m just leaving because I’m done with it. Because I want to do other things.”

Magnus’ decision to leave Fäviken resonates. I flew away, cried away, swam away, ran away, danced away—a ways from the rituals that coveted my daily life for most of a decade. Now, living in Lima, baking some of the time, I do not worry if or when I will bake all the time. I enjoy the other things.

 

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