It’s hard to remember how we functioned before smartphones; before we had a map, a full phone directory, Google Translate, and all the information available by tapping a question into an internet browser in our pocket.  Well, this story happened before that time. I was supposed to meet my friend Misha that morning.  I don’t remember why we were meeting. It actually wasn’t to find potatoes or other rare summer produce this time.  I also don’t recall why I was going alone or why I was okay with navigating a foreign city with only vague directions.  To fill in my own memory gaps, I’m guessing I had gotten to the point that I felt at home in Izhevsk, Russia, and riding public transportation to get to a destination was a normal, everyday part of life.  Hopping on a bus to meet a friend didn’t sound like a harrowing adventure.  It

I need to preface this post by saying that I have always been a picky eater.   I wasn’t a picky eater in that I wouldn’t try new things or that I didn’t like vegetables.  I actually loved a lot of vegetables that most kids won’t touch.  I could eat an entire artichoke by myself at eight.  But I’m picky about texture, and I’m not a big fan of meat.  (If you’ve followed my blog for several years, you may recall I used to be vegetarian.)  I don’t like mushrooms because they are spongy or rubbery.  I don’t like the mealy feel of fresh tomatoes and watermelon.  Fruit that I usually love, like apples, pears, peaches, grapes, and cherries, is a no-go if the texture is wrong.  Apparently, this is how I was born.  I used to reject baby food until my mom found a rubber-coated spoon I would eat