Among the many differences between my childhood home and my friend EJ’s home were the magazines. My living room was scattered with copies of Sunset Magazine, Better Homes & Gardens and Family Circle. Only one magazine entered EJ’s home. Gourmet. A copy always held pride of place on the side table next to her father’s dark green leather chair. I spent many afternoons sitting in that cool chair, sipping tea and carefully leafing through the latest Gourmet making sure not to bend the pages. Here was my first glimpse into a world that was sophisticated and cosmopolitan. It was my primary source for learning about places like The Quilted Giraffe, Le Colonial and The Four Seasons. It opened a window for me. I might have been a 14 year-old sitting in a suburb in California but I could imagine myself truffle hunting in France or setting a table with Baccarat crystal and Limoges china - a far cry from my mother’s Franciscan Ware Apple pattern dishes.
I always wondered what Mr. J did with the past copies. I didn’t find out until the day I announced to them that I was planning my first trip to Europe. I could tell that the idea of a 22 year-old going to Europe alone was startling to Mr. J. But he also seemed to want to help. ‘Come with me’, he said. E and I followed him into the garage. He began to open the cabinets that lined the left side of the dark, musty garage. There they were. 30 years worth. ‘Borrow whatever you like’ , he offered. And I did.
Mr. J is gone now. And so is Gourmet. I mourn them both.
