Sitting in my grandmothers kitchen... she has one of those metal three step stools... in red... that is also a chair at the top... it’s snugged in between the fridge and the end of the counter... I sit there and watch her cook. She has a tiny galley kitchen... maybe 8’ long 5’ wide... every square inch used well... exhaust fan in the window at the end of the counter keeps the kitchen cool... she cooks and bakes... everything from scratch... tasting... adjusting seasonings... explaining to me while she cooks... try this... a wooden spoon approaches my mouth... it’s raw fish with seasonings... I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head... uh uh... no... not tasting raw fish... grandma tells me if I ever want to learn to cook properly I will have to taste... how else can you see if it’s right?
Now, I taste... and sniff... and stir... and think of her as I cook and bake in my small kitchen... she is there... in my head... telling me to taste and asking, Does it need salt?
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