MAGIC ROMANCE AND DREAMS: HUGGING IN THE KITCHEN

The kitchen is my favorite place in the house. Here I like to drink coffee with friends, to check my emails, even now all I type at the kitchen table, although I can not complain, I have other options.

It is a relationship created in time and finished with every event that happened here and every flavor we flooded nostrils. Here he makes and Brian, our son, homework, while I can see of mine and, if necessary, I May give one tip about splitting words into syllables. Here we take important decisions for the family. I have a table of natural wood, solid crust as thick legs that are visible traces of knife, stitches of pencil, trace colors. A meal that we know on each of the house.

At first we became friends

Once, before I was married, when I realized I did as a student, that to have food, you have to cook the relationship with this part of the house was one shy. Perhaps it also helped that enter cautiously into the kitchen because I expected all the time there to see my mother, who died quite early on when I just walked in the realm of adolescence.

At first the recipes dictated to call my grandmother. With fear and especially attention to the money allocated food. The same money could well have been turn to books, clothes, cigarettes or going out. I went "flirting" and we said we love each other when grown after I started taking a salary. Back then, it was clear that I can not survive without food.

What followed was pure passion!

Oh, how good it was when I discovered that I can cook well. Okay, well everything. That could spoil my

friends with one traditional way or rather exotic. Every ingredient I translate into ineffable alchemy. Spoon hot wood brought for tasting sauce with a touch of Indian flavors, sweet and spicy. Ginger complicated and prickly like a winter morning, pink pepper, extravagant and decadent, fluffy magic that turns on every house "home". I changed to a better stove without flash. We have invested in knives, small ceramic pots and utensils peeled, chopped, sliced, cut, boiled, baked. And slowly I felt fiercely angry than the (rare) cases where we gave one food from the earth. Two things are certain: cooked with passion and just when I feel like it. Like in a relationship at the beginning, a seductive secret love between me, that my taste buds confident - and she-cuisine, permissive, frisky, generous. We loved passionately until crust have installed the necessary baby food.

It has changed

Once the last child from breast bowl began a relationship more thoroughly, and levelheaded, between me and my kitchen. Now we meet twice a week to watch the evening to make out. We met daily with sultry long standing, no longer have time to do compliments or to surprise each other. Recipes simple several times a day. Just for the simple delight to the taste buds. Over time I started to get bored kitchen, she told me that I have become mainstream. Had settled routine and cold, not to mention! I knew what to expect, and mashed carrots with zucchini did not make the heart beat faster anyone. However, I had moments of intimacy with one cooked dinner later, spicy and refined - so as to remember why we fell in love in the first place.

Then came the baby at the table

When he was old enough to put the blender back in the cupboard above and a little to eat what we eat, over

all passion. By now, the spirit of saving time, cooked for us all he could eat and the young being who filled our days. We said goodbye for now to many things a few years kiddie considers Nasty, but that we adore. We shuffled here and there, spices and tastes that this was common and small. But I like to hide from myself: baked chicken legs, mashed potatoes, chicken soup and the fruit cake made it on my kitchen wondering what she saw in my first . She made it clear that this rate reach divorce. That I turned into a housewife and that I would embarrass the refined televised cooking competitions. "Good thing you're smart," I replied, slipping into the oven some meatballs with meat and vegetables. Smiled to myself because secretly slipped half a teaspoon of allspice and I knew that moment-not the furnace will release an aroma into the air to the nose can give: "See I still have something special?" Lucky that my kitchen did not like to run another younger!