Spring

Inside their cage, two bright-eyed rabbits were sniffing the air. Twitch, twitch, twitch: I watched their whiskers wiggle and took a small sip of my sparkling wine.

“Wanna see the garden? It’s rad,” Krista said, setting down her glass and beginning the ascend up a sturdy-looking ladder.

I followed her up, kicking off my heels as I went. Behind me, Jacques was holding the ladder base. We were on his rooftop, exploring his restaurant’s roots. Full from bluefish and plantain and fennel ice cream, I swayed a bit at the dizzying push onto the rooftop. But once I stood and surveyed a grid of greens, my head felt clear. At my bare feet, an extraordinary garden spread out. I let my eyes follow the rows until they met the edge of the rooftop and a birds-eye view of Brooklyn. The city blinked quietly in its midnight lull. We stood there, watching nothing move and everything breathe.

Jacques pushed himself up onto the roof and smiled giddily as his arm swept out over his domain. He zipped around the roof, stopping at promising-looking dirt patches. I wiggled my toes and wished for grass.

“Here, eat.” Jacques was holding out two small leaves to Krista and me. We chewed.

I ate the sorrel, then garlic shoots, mache, chives. They all had substance, aggressive give under my teeth.

We traveled back down the ladder – this time, Jacques went first so he could steady our climb. We dutifully retrieved our wine glasses, and as I winked goodbye to the rabbits, I squeezed Krista’s hand. It had been months since I’d felt this close to my food, and now I had two friends to share it with. Yes, I thought, Spring is surely here.

«Go Back