Watching her cook was like watching
a duck in water. Making use of the old
utensils and cookware of the hotel kitchen
she made a meal with an eclectic mix
of elements she had pondered over breakfast.
Sauté, mince, sear, season:
these words flowed from her lips
like a second language in time with the
steady chops on the cutting board
and I was mesmerized when she
moved in perfect rhythm from stirring
the mushrooms to flipping the
sweet potato hash into the air;
tasting and adding more olive oil
to marry the idea on her palate to the
reality on the stovetop.