[This is the second in a series of posts about my dining experience with Ritual Dinners on November 3, 2022. You may find the first one here.]
I think about seeds often. The kinds you spit. Those you suck. The ones you swallow. The seeds you pummel until they are broken down into multiple parts, exposed. They are often the ending note of my intercourse with the skin and flesh of fruit. But, during this dining experience, Seed. was the foreplay.
It was our first course – a beginning. The fertile whispers of an existence beckoning. Like a spark to a flame, the seed ignites the dirt of the Earth with a blaze vital to birthing life therein.