Istanbul, Not Constantinople

It was 50 degrees out on Saturday, so Stephen and I took a walk through Huron Village to Sofra for an afternoon snack. We split a pot of cocoa rose tea, Stephen got lamb shawarma, and I ordered the Syrian-style bread hummus, which was not at all what I was expecting--sort of a deconstructed hummus, maybe. It consisted of chunks of fresh bread, olive oil, marinated chick peas, green onions, yogurt, and paprika, I think, served warm in a tiny casserole dish. Even though it was completely new to me, it smelled incredibly homey and familiar in some way, and I pretty much licked the dish clean.

We've had Middle Eastern food at Sofra a few times before, but this time we called it "research" because we're about to leave on a trip to Turkey with Stephen's family. The planning has been very sudden--I still can't believe we're going. I've only been out of the US three times in my life, and two of those trips were to Canada, so this is hard for me to wrap my head around. I've had the They Might Be Giants cover of "Istanbul, Not Constantinople" stuck in my head all week.

On our way home from the bakery on Saturday, we cut through the Radcliffe Quadrangle at Harvard and found these crocuses--first flowers of spring. Later we saw snowdrops in someone's front garden, too. Between the warm temperatures and Daylight Savings Time beginning, winter will soon be a distant memory. I know it happens every year, but it still feels like a miracle every time.