Even though it ended badly, I have to admit that the year I spent at Clementine changed my life for the better. It's still hard for me to go back because of all of the memories tangled up in their signature smells and tastes. Their homemade chai smells like Amanda smiling so wide and for so long I thought her face would break and Sloppy Joes taste like the first time Patrick kissed me because Christine had made me cry. That year, the restaurant was my life and now going back feels like finding out that your parents have turned your bedroom into a gym while you were away at school. SO, when Margy said she wanted the 3-salad-combo for her birthday lunch, I opted for curb-side pickup to avoid the nostalgia (and the lunch rush).
NOW TO THE PICKLES...
Clementine serves a side of homemade pickles with every sandwich. They are my among my all time favorite foods of all time. Their watery crunch is more cucumbery than pickley, but the flavor is all pickle. Hands down, the BEST pickles I've ever had. However, because of my Clementine-flavored emotional baggage, they've been forced to take on "very rare treat" status. Today, my consumption of these deliciousnesses sparked a funny memory:
When Clementine closes before Christmas, the staff gets to take home all the unsold food that won't keep. The most coveted foods are the whole apple pies and roast chickens. They're great because they're huge and expensive and you can share them with your family. So while everyone is fighting over the biggies, Livier calls me over and uncovers the barrel of pickles she has stashed in the walk-in and generously offers to share them with me. I hastily fill the quart jar she has just handed me, and run to my car to hide my treasure. When I get home I retreat to my room and greedily eat the whole quart. Soon I feel the sickness. Unable to puke, I sit alone for hours. My insides are pickled and I don't regret it.
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