When I first made the big decision to leave behind my hometown suburb of Washington, D.C., and move to New York City, I never anticipated ever feeling homesick. Purely because of the proximity — traveling between the two cities is never an egregiously long journey. But as of late, that deep, undeniable sense of longing has been hitting hard. Maybe it’s because of the winter blues. Or maybe it’s because I’m still reeling from a recent visit over the holidays, which reminded me of all the little things I used to take for granted growing up. The familiar warmth of my childhood bed. The harmonious commotions at the family dining table. The soothing aromas of my mother’s homecooking.
It’s during these moments of sadness that I seek solace in late-night cafes. I’m a regular at my neighborhood Yemeni coffee shop, where the soft hum and spicy scents of bubbling, fresh chai greet me. That sensory experience feels so reminiscent of home. Wafting through the air is a medley of warm spices I grew up savoring: nutmeg, clove, cinnamon, black pepper and ginger. But the one scent that opens the floodgates of nostalgia is cardamom.
