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.