I remember things in food.
Not the taste, but the actual dish I ate.
For me family vacations, birthdays, holidays, entire periods of my childhood are most vividly recalled by what I put in my mouth.
I was eating an untoasted onion bagel with a cup of Tropicana light pulp orange juice the second time my parents were married to each other.
The first time, before I was born, very few people had attended their nuptials and the building next door had caught fire. Hoping to get it right the second time around, they renewed their vows when I was four years old.
Preparations were made at the Chabbad of Laguna for a bagel brunch.
A brunch which I was trying to enjoy when some unrecallable faceless adult turned me towards a Chuppah which my parents were circling around. At this point, I stopped eating and the memory goes fuzzy. The next thing I remember was taking a sip of my orange juice and my Father doubling over in pain. The glass he stepped on had a stem that was facing up and had chipped his ankle bone.
Needless to stay this was their last wedding.
Later, we had a cake with vanilla frosting.