CHOCOLATE AS REMEMBRANCE

"Sit down and I'll go look for the lease," said my landlord.

I had just decided to rent an apartment in his building, which is nothing short of magical: well-maintained, great neighbours, with a front and backyard, affordable on my non-profit salary, and close to my friends. He had invited me into the apartment he shared with his wife in the same building. As he set about to look for the necessary papers, his wife brought out water, slivovitz (Serbian plum brandy), and dark chocolate. “Please take some; eat, eat.” I've been lucky with landlords in Montréal, having more good ones than bad, but this hospitality took me by surprise.

It was the same hospitality and kindness that would go on to characterize the way he took care of his tenants and the building for the next few years. He passed away recently, and I wish I took the time to articulate to him how great of a landlord he really was.

Earlier this week, I had made a nut and chocolate spread, carefully roasting hazelnuts and almonds, before grinding into a paste with cocoa, a bit of maple syrup and sea salt. This morning, I had some on a slice of sourdough, holding a hot coffee in my hands, still feeling heartbroken from the news of his passing. Having lost too many people in my life, I've still yet to get used to the feeling of loss that feels like a punch to the gut. But standing in the haze of early morning, I paid a quiet homage to my landlord, to us meeting over chocolate, and to the enduring effect of his kindness and care, for his building and his people.