Fäviken

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

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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 hold its place in my top ten dishes that altered my palate.

Earlier, we dipped our bare bodies in the a small ways above freezing summer lake. Our bodies taut with laughter, with 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. A chorus of that evening’s dining companions serenaded Lisa in a Sweedish “Happy Birthday.” I chose to prolong this day as the sun also would. It would delay the fear I had for tomorrow’s unfamiliar adventure. 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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