The smoothness of nostalgia

Apparently wheel alignment takes about 45 minutes, so a wander over to one of my favourite cafes seemed as good a way as any to while away the time. With little thought as to why, I find myself ordering a totally unnecessary mug of coffee and a self-indulgent slice of locally made milk tart. A burst of cinnamon, followed by the smooth, creamy taste of the filling as it moves across my tongue, hits my palate and memory centres together. It’s a taste I associate with my sister for some reason, perhaps because she tends to make quietly rapturous noises whenever she has some – little hums of pleasure that are at once amusing and comforting to hear.

I can’t actually remember ever eating milk tart (aka ‘melktert’) when we were growing up, but somehow it’s become a taste of home, a reminder of a time and country that really no longer exists. Nostalgia is a cruel mistress. It leads us to dwell on events and times that, in our imagination, often seem shinier, tastier, less pebble-strewn and more enjoyable than they probably were. The little glow this slice of pie provides tints my memories in such a way as to make everything seem in soft focus, comfortable and easy. In other words, the way I’d probably have liked it all to have been, rather (perhaps) than how it really was.

I lick the spoon clean because, really, sometimes good pie is just good pie, telling myself that whether or not the enjoyment is reinforcing a curated version of reality, the soft rose-tint of the before-times. Because, in absolute terms, milk tart is darn pretty delicious. So I leave it at that and head for the door and my car pick up, replete.

But Madame Nostalgia isn’t finished with me yet. As I near the exit I’m unable to ignore the tiny frisson of happiness I feel at noticing a big basket of gem squash. My brain is immediately overloaded with memories of family meals, each soft-boiled half squash served with butter and salt. Rose-tinted or not, some of those little gems are coming home with me!