As I sit to write, the knot in my stomach tightens. The aroma still lingers on my hands, in my beard, I fear not wash. Dear Sugo, do not leave.
You and I met summers ago, at a market, at a stand. This container of careful meat stewing. Your master, ever smiling knew it would entice, steer me back for more. You Sugo, are my crack. Week after week, year after year your flavors never wandered. Warmed on toast? With fresh ‘maters added? You even replaced my meat sauce, never looked back. The delight in the eyes of the children each week, guaranteed dinner splendor. Tiny E never tried, but he knew the lineage and was calmed by your presence.
Everyone loves you, everyone cares. Dear Sugo, do not leave.
I leave you today in tears. Farewell to thee dear Sugo.
snurfle. sob. breakdown.
That was beautiful, man.
I gotta get some of that man.
I miss Baby Suri too: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13639841/
where is sugo going?
Not quite sure, but it isn’t being produced until further notice. It hurts.