My mind feels like an immersed sponge right now, leaking bits of my short term memory as it fills up with the endless tasks of my nine to five work day. By the end of each day, I'm in a fog, and I've been pondering how best to deal with the physical and mental stress of my job.
Last night, as I looked at what I had to eat for dinner, I saw a pile of tomatoes, freshly picked from Margherita's garden and suddenly couldn't stop thinking about tomato sauce. I sent her a quick text asking for a recipe, and she replied with an invitation to bring whatever ingredients I had next door to her house.
I packed up the tomatoes, a bit of fresh basil, two shallots, and knocked on her door.
I was greeted with a glass of red wine, a purring orange tabby, and an old-fashioned radio playing NPR-style jazz. She told me in a heavy Italian accent to turn on the burner and began thawing beef to brown. We worked side by side for over an hour, chopping and adding ingredients into a pot on the stove. The sound of us in the kitchen even managed to draw out George, her husband, who more often than not will spend his time away in the attic when I come over.
It may have been the wine, but I felt relaxed and at peace. We spoke like family.
The sauce was wonderfully thick and rich, in that way that food gets when it is carefully prepared.
I brought it home in a large dish to share- and while we ate it, I reflected on how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people in my life.
A meal cooked with love is filling in every sense of the word.
