Cooking together

There’s something that happens when you’re cooking together. We’re in our first days here in our new apartment, and it’s really a small space. A large window into the outside, yet the kitchen is a small not quite hallway that barely fits two people. It’s both small, and intimitate. There’s something I noticed about tonight. It’s not always the words on the page or the moments that a recipe takes to be written.

Recipes have language but they’re also passed down from generation to generation, over even thousands of years. When we cook together, we become the moments of all of these stories. How different am I tonight than my ancestors who made these same meals. Did my mom ever yearn with heartache and despair, yet hope and love over the same meal I make with my partner tonight? How many other people are sharing time with each other in their kitchens, how united are we all the minute we share a meal.

Journalists are how I understand the world, and I noticed something about today, all the voices, between what I saw on social media, and even the places I visited for coffee while we worked across the bay area, from Third Culture to Java Hut to Ruby’s and Easy Creole all of the meals we shared together formed a tapestry, one that is barely comprehensible, that make this day for me feel timeless. And when we are paying attention, isn’t every day like that?

In the sweltering heat, almost to dizzyiness, we sat down tonight after cooking and had dinner, and what we talked about most was the food. My partner asked if there was anything missing from the meal. I thought for a minute, and then I looked at her side of the table. “Is that wine?”, I asked. “Yes, there was only enough for one glass,” she said. “Can we share it?” I replied. And I think that’s what happens whenever we have a meal, make dinner with our families, write a book, make film, play a game, all of it. We share the wine. With each other, throughout time, with all life, and even in our greatest hardships.

There was a small window earlier in the day at Third Culture I looked outside as we waited for our drinks. Through the window, every color was vast. Blue was bright blue. White was flourescent light. The darks were so deep and rich, deep tones and vivid light. I almost don’t want tonight to end. I wish I could make a film that captured all of it. I hope I never forget this day, because right now, I see everything through that light.

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