Dreams

Food Is Love

In the late days of spring, when the chill is gone and when summer sits right at the gate, quietly whispering its promise, I’ll cook a meal, our first to be eaten outside for months. The table will be surrounded by candles and white lights. Whatever flowers I found at the farmer’s market, on the table.
In the kitchen, with Pandora choosing our soundtrack, I’ll dance around, my spirit light and full of hope. I don’t know why it is that cooking does this for me {or maybe I do}, but long before I take a sip of wine, I’m intoxicated.
Coq Au Vin, parsley potatoes and if I want to really Julia Child it, buttered green peas. There’s a joy that takes over me when in the kitchen, but it increases when I’m cooking for others. The routine of chopping, pouring and measuring is better than therapy. And knowing that I’ll serve another increases this soul satisfaction.
When the food is ready and we sit to eat, you’ll pour the Cotes du Rhone for both of us. I’ll wait for you to take the first bite. And then for your approval. Which, I will get. But I’ll wait with anticipation just the same.
There’s something so absolutely beautiful about a meal shared. Food made well, and with passion is sensual and life-giving. It meets a basic need for nourishment. And yet, there’s something so luxurious about the process of creating. And then, the slow process of savoring a meal with company you treasure, begins.

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