What I don't pay in rent, i make up for by cooking. Big pots and pans bubbling and boiling to delicious readiness. In a small kitchen, turning around manoevering the right pot to the right element, chopping peppers and adding a dash of salt, all become steps in a dance. On the patio breaking for a cigarette I keep quiet and listen to the sounds floating to me, making sure none are out of the ordinary.
When i get back in, the smells come together with tomato colours and compliment each other, to my pleasure. The clangs of lids coming on and off add another aural element to the busy scene.
What capricious effects these culinary elements have! Instead of a full appartment lingering with odors of feet, dead cigarette butts, stale beer in empty cans, we have nostrils filled with scents of joyous pastas, sauces, Mexican foods, vegetarian foods.
Mommas on the porch ringing the dinner bell, calling the boys in from the field. Time to lash the horses up to the post; time to eat.
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