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Jeezo.

I sniffed the open bag and started laughing, as I haven’t been this overwhelmed by bergamot oil since I was a kid and every sip of Earl Grey tasted like an exotic perfume.

This feels like travel — waking up and teetering down creaky steps to breakfast in the UK. The proprietor’s homemade marmalade and fresh brown bread, hoofed back from the bakery before sunrise; a barely-sweet mug of cocoa on the generations-old oak table; that cozy buzz before heading out into an overcast day of wood beams and lichen-stone and drizzle and history.