The mid-day sun blazed down on the canvas-roofed stalls. It was market day in Estepona, on the edge of the Mediterranean in southern Spain. For hours, I had been singing with a small ensemble at a junction of the busy barato’s shopping aisles. My mouth was so dry that I could barely speak. As I ducked into the shade of a booth piled high with local fruit, the heady scent of ripe, juicy strawberries drew me close. Scarcely had a half kilo plopped into my sack when I began plucking them out and into my mouth. The sweet juicy fruit hit the spot on that hot day, and I quickly emptied the whole bag, heedless of the trickle of juice running down my chin.

Each season, each clime, holds its own special “hit the spot” delight, from the mulled wine of cool autumn days, to the icy refreshment of a citron pressè, mixed just-as-you-please, on a summer afternoon.

There was the frigid fall morning in Venice, where I walked, bundled in scarf, hat and gloves, through the outdoor stalls of the Rialto market. Who knew it’d be this cold here in October? “It’s the wind from Trieste,” said the fishmonger. “On TV I saw people trying to walk against it, nearly bowed to the ground resisting the strength of the gale!”  Rounding a corner, I see a savvy vendor doing a brisk business selling vin brulè. Just what I need! The little plastic cup is almost too hot to hold, but oh, how the spicy hot blend of sugared wine, cloves, and lemon slices warms me from the throat to the stomach.

And what’s better in summer than a frosty provençal pastis? The waiter places a tall narrow glass, containing just a finger of the pale yellow aperitif, and a miniature pitcher of ice water before us. Savoring the moment, my companion pours a portion of water into the pastis, which clouds up mysteriously. Enjoying a patch of shade at an outdoor table, we share the refreshing anise elixir, content to relax and take in the view of the sloping hillsides of olive trees before us, following the lead of the wise residents, who take it easy during these hot afternoon hours.

Sometimes, it’s a tempting scent, wafting down a busy shopping street that reminds me that it’s past time to savor a snack. The captivating fragrance of fresh-off-the-griddle sugar-crisped waffles in Antwerp prompts insistently that sustenance is needed to continue this shopping trek.  I’ll say “Yes!” to that hot waffle, dripping with chocolate, or dusted with sugar.

A favorite thirst-quencher in sultry Spain is café granizado – a coffee “slurpie” sometimes served with a dollop of the creamiest ice cream I’ve ever tasted. Late into the night, the streets are cooling down, and I join the paseo of young and old, marveling at the energetic toddlers, still going strong at 1 am. The busiest shop on the pedestrian street is dishing out ice cream and granizados as fast as they can. I sit and savor the bittersweet icy mixture, appreciating its coolness in the summer night.

Sometimes the best taste of all is the simplest – just water! What else hits the spot on an energetic ramble through the countryside like water?  I’m on a narrow path high above the Ligurian Sea. The surf below dashes against the rocks, and every bend in the trail opens up another breathtaking vista: ferries plying the azure ocean, silver-green olive groves, terraced vineyards, a glimpse of the colorful fishing village to which I’m headed. Stopping frequently, I squirt the bottle into my mouth, enjoying the splash on my hot skin as well. Even though the water has warmed in my backpack, there could be no more satisfying taste just now.

Each taste, whether simple or complex, satisfies the need of the moment. It also whets the appetite for more. Where will the next hit-the-spot delight surprise me?

Cheers! A toast to future serendipitous tastes of life!

Copyright 2004, Anne Woodyard, all rights reserved