A Better Time and Place

After a long hard day there is nothing like the pleasure of a delicious home-cooked meal. Post intense workout there is sweat dripping down my spine as I slave over the cutting board and frustrating single burner on my gas stove that needs to be relit constantly, as I switch from piece to piece of my well-rounded full meal.

For me cooking is a skill that was honed as a young child. My mother would graciously except my help even though it probably took her twice as long to complete her tasks. She knew that this was a skill that would someday come in handy for me, while all my friends would be eating garbage like ramen and sugary colorful cereals for dinner.

Cooking has become more than a necessary portions of my life and eating habits. It has become a relaxing and rewarding past-time. A skill I strive to continue to improve for the benefit of my future family and friends, and my health.

Chopping and cooking the vegetables comes with ease. I know how to season and marinade them to taste delicious, and as I desire. My 6 months of vegetarianism combined with living with and being friends with vegetarians for several years of my life has taught me well. I stare at the meat sitting in the random marinade (salad dressing) that I randomly added to it yesterday having no idea what I was doing. I wonder to myself how to begin cooking this giant piece of chicken on a bone. I know that chicken on the bone is far better than chicken off the bone, but I also don’t want to get some random disease. I put it on the pan whole, later regretting my decision as I attempt to slice it in the pan without scratching the pan to bits. Adding protein into my diet is part of my new diet plan as I begin to increase the amount of time I spend lifting at the gym. I desire lean muscles. 

The meal is complete and I am ready to enjoy it while sitting on the coolness of the floor in my air conditioned room. I place a piece of chicken in my mouth and chew. It is adequate and I am satisfied with my attempt, but vow never to cook a large piece of meat again, think back to my feeble attempt to cook a ram roast in Albania. I think of my friends and our jokes as we all walked home with a solid piece of mystery meat for Lebaran and not having any idea why we received it, or what to do with it.

The mouthful of marinated zucchini transports me to a better time and place. Suddenly I’m sitting on the old and worn couch on 18^th and Como, listening to records while I aimlessly attempt to study while I eat my fresh veggies post 4 mile run. My mouth begins to crave the cold IPA I am imagining in the fridge, ready to help me through the rest of my study session. I hear my brothers cackle as we joke about Aaron Rodgers being the chosen one, talk about potential party themes, discuss the best upcoming shows we want to see, and when the next grill session will be.

My slightly failed attempt at mashed cauliflower is what comes next. A spoonful in my mouth and I realize that while the texture is bumpy and not smooth the flavor is still there. I mix in the chicken and with a single spoonful I am carried to a better place and time. Suddenly I’m sitting at my kitchen table in Marshfield. I have just gotten done with my day of AP and honors classes followed by my 2 hours of answering the phone, typing numbers into excel and alphabetizing items for filing. My mother places a plate of homemade chicken tenders, mashed cauliflower, and salad in front of me so that I can chow down before I run off to my 4 hour long drama rehearsal. I am a careless teenager, not understand the decisions and responsibilities that lay ahead. 

My food tastes like home, but I am not there. I’m beginning to fear that I will never arrive there again. My meager attempts to create a home for myself here seem pointless and restricted. But then again, how amazing is it that I’ve managed to create any life at all in a place that seems completely foreign in every way?

I look forward to realizing that this was a better time and place. I look forward to making the next home a better time and place. I realize I am looking back too much, and forward too much and I remind myself that the present is now and here. And after a long hard day, there is nothing like the pleasure of a delicious home-cooked meal. And I have just had one.