As I am writing this, we have sprung forward an hour. I am sweating in my knee-length coat as I walk to class and when I get out of class, often at 5 p.m., I swear that it’s possible to see those last vestiges of sunlight decorating the horizon. It’s a beautiful sight y’all. Spring is coming.
Does anybody else catch themselves going through metamorphoses when it starts to get warmer? That winter fur, whether on legs or shaggy cosby sweaters—gone. Hidden away in the days of yore, until the rise of the next badger ice age. The clothes and the steps become lighter, people smile more—it’s a beautiful sight! I like to celebrate by changing my music.
Goodbye, plaintive Bon Iver song and hello light-hearted fare. I go back to my childhood, to my happy-place music, where things were simpler and new jack swing was bumping from some relative’s boombox. It was with a high step and head phones bumping “Color Me Badd” (no shame) that I walked into Slow Food.
I had been here once my freshman year (read: lifetime ago) and that was to support a mentor who was cooking for the Madison community. After getting languidly lost trying to identify exactly what church on University the Slow Food Café was in (note: it’s the one with the Slow Food sign out in front of it, go figure), I slinked down to the basement and put in my order.
Slow Food believes in local food and ingredients, learning about where the food we eat comes from, and “offering a level of transparency that educates the customers to eat the good, clean, fair food that upholds the greater Slow Food ideals.” Sounded cool to me.
The basement looks like rec room one may see in any church, but there is a real feel of the simplicity Slow Food advertises. The tables are fine, slim glass vials full of water sparkling in the bright sun. The staff is friendly, with nary a cash register in sight—just an iPhone machine that you swipe your card in if you are about that debit life, or hand-to-hand transaction if you are about the cash life. The menu, written in simple script.
Each Wednesday, Slow Food offers two entrees, two sides and a dessert. I chose the sweet potato sandwich with mozzarella and pesto on beet bread, and skipped the sides—both had cheese in them and since my sandwich was already dairy familiar, I decided to spare my classmates of my next class the bubble gut scenario that happens when dairy and I get too familiar. I decided to treat myself to dessert, today a chocolate bread pudding.
Sitting down to the meal was an epic affair. Keith Sweat came on just as I reached for the sandwich and he told me to “Make It Last Forever.” And when Keith Sweat sings, you must heed the call.
I didn’t scarf down my food, per usual. I savored it, content to be in the moment with it. To get to know its background, its goals in life, what brought it to a town like this, what its hopes were after college. It said it wanted to join the Peace Corps and spread deliciousness throughout the land. I totally believed it.
It’s been my experience that a sandwich usually has that one shining feature that makes it memorable to a patron. Kind of like a love interest—that guy who has amazing eyes, how they shine in the night, and this sandwich which has amazing spread, how it lingers on my mind and taste buds. And some sandwiches (and people) are perfect 10s—they are so easy on the eyes, the palate. They won a Fullbright, volunteer on the weekends, write soulful ballads about days gone by and look at your face when they talk to you. These are introduce-to-your-mama sandwiches.
I want to introduce this sandwich to my entire family. The bread was delicious, soft interior, firm crust, a delightful rose color from the beets in it. The sweet-potato patty was decadent, meaty, sweet, creamy. The pesto was REAL pesto. Like somebody grew some basil, chopped it with a knife, not a magic bullet (snicker), and threw some love in it. It was only $4.50. Cue next song.
“Tony Toni Tone” started singing about a slow wine, something my mother thought inappropriate to listen to. She was probably right, as I was two when it came out, but my older cousins could not care less and were not responsible babysitters. It is the soundtrack to the forbidden, and that’s when the bread pudding came in.
So bready. So chocolatey. So warm and gooey and…*fans self…* it was only $1. I think I might have done a body roll of celebration.
Y’all just go to Slow Food. Trust me. It’s conscionable and all kinds of sexy. It sings to you, “let me take you to a place so nice and quiet/ there ain’t no one there to interrupt/ ain’t gotta rush/ I just want to take it nice and slow.”
Oh wait, that was actually Usher. I’m pretty sure they’re the same thing.
Interested in visiting the Slow Food Café with Gethsemane this week? Email her at herroncoward@wisc.edu, and you guys can bask in the delicious, wholesome goodness together.
