If I were eating smoked salmon and goat cheese at home, I would taste a jubilant wild song, unedited conversation, a wide open room with flowers and lots of bright noises just beyond the edge.
If I ate them at the beach I would taste a breath of vastness, blue as far as blue can be, a bit of earth mixed with yellow. I'd turn my head often, brush hair away from my face, searching out the source of each immense sound.
If I ate such delights on my door step, home alone on a hot summer afternoon I would taste richness almost too big, even heavy, like quiet knowing, slow speaking, nearly missing the turn to Jenny's house on a long windy road.
In this cafe right now, they taste like gentleness, a peaceful mind, a smile, sweet echos of happiness, gratitude, walking among fragrant purple blooms, stooping to observe their gifts.