My daughter is napping on the couch. She had a half day and studying for her midterms is taking its' toll. I wander into the kitchen, into a mess.
It is inevitable that food work its' way into this blog. Food is my business and everything I do leads back to it, somehow. I am not sure how much and how soon all of that will come out. I like my anonymity. I think it allows me to write without worrying about the consequences, but maybe that is unrealistic.
I turn Netflix on and find an old Anthony Bourdain tv show. It may be his first. The way the shots are spliced together seems Miami Vice-like. Bourdain looks thin and young. As he speaks you can tell he is trying to find his voice.
The kitchen needs to be cleaned, but I also need to eat. I do a little of both. In my mind, I think about making sure that my daughter assumes some of the responsibility for the mess she has left behind. But, I clean. There is also this need to take care of her. I want her to sleep. I know how hard she works; she needs the sleep. It is a balance.
Food is about life. Cooking is about caring. Now, I know that sometimes it is just about shoving something down your throat to make your stomach stop growling. Other times though, cooking is about showing love. When you prepare food, you are giving up your time and your knowledge. You are sharing a secret. The secret of time, and texture, and temperature.
Bourdain is shopping for fish in Tokyo. He talks about the amount of time that goes into producing food in Japan. It seems to be a revelation to the chef. Ahh tv.
I eat leftovers and put dishes in the dishwasher. Right now I need to stop my stomach from growling, but I eye my rice cooker and think about later. Later, I will spend some time with that thing.
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