I lived down the street from the Garden of Eden in New York City. I went there, like, three times a day--once for iced coffee before the gym, once for iced coffee after the gym and once in the early evenings for you know, the cheese. In fact I often would substitute cheese tastings at the Garden for dinner. That's what's so great about New York--free food, everywhere.
I made lots of memories at the Garden. From trying to make the coffee lady smile by singing Justin Timberlake to blowing bubbles at the cashiers because hey, it's Memorial Day. But my favorite day in the Garden of Eden was the day the guayaba arrived.
The Garden of Eden had many fruits but guayaba was not typically one of them. You know what I mean when I say guayaba, right? A guayaba is a guava--it is a tropical fruit from a tropical tree and when I say tropical, you know I'm talking about Cuba.
The Cubans love their guava. They eat it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert. They spread it on crackers and top it with cheese, they fill pastries with it, they use it in their barbecue sauce. The closest I got to the authentic guava indulgence was obviously in Union City, NJ which used to be known as Havana on the Hudson but that's not really the case anymore.
The Garden of Eden was a far cry from Union City anyway and so when that strong guava fragrance hit my nostrils, I did what any romantic and nostalgia afflicted woman would do: I cried.
And the two guys who were stocking the fruit that day? Heaven help them.
I'm sure their first thought was, I hope this girls going to buy that because um, that nostril action can't be sanitary followed by: "Are you ok?"
I was suddenly transported back from the street markets of Havana to the Upper West Side. I moved the fruit slightly away from my nose and asked, in the most dramatic fashion possible, "Do you know what this is?"
They nodded. Like yeah Miss, we put it there.
I ignored their nods. I ignored their knowledge.
"Guava," I said. And then I followed it up with, "Cuba."
Not even a complete sentence--just kind of, saying whatever came to my mind. Standing there, inhaling the guava in the middle of the Garden of Eden. The two guys looked at each other then back at me. This is New York City lady, their silence seemed to say. There's no time for your one woman show.
I packed an entire basket with guava that day, and by the time my roommates came home, our apartment smelled like the new Havana.
They say that smell is one of the most powerful triggers of emotion and memory. Well, for all my nostalgic ladies, afflicted with romance, and for all my Cubans, afflicted by exile from the Garden of Eden, might I recommend to you, a guava. And click your heels three times because there's really no place like home.