Mi casa es su Basa.

Blue Long Johns, favorite white hand-me-down V neck with the bike print on the back, hair wild, giant sun hat indoors. It was a grey day and there was no pressing need to wear a giant sun hat--indoor or outdoor--but I felt like wearing it, so I am. The Duke and Duchess (Zach and Mel) just left after a lovely evening including all of our favorite vices: a solid dinner, Leffe beer, Shira's good jazz, my mum's Tulip sugar cookies. Zach came and stayed and then left to pick up Mel and together they came and together they left with a promise to return shortly. Eventually they did, carrying more beer and essential ingredients that I had some how forgotten. While I waited for them, I passed time by tuning both the radios in the home to 107.9 fm, my favorite station to work alongside and prepped for dinner and cleaned the rooms and flipped through a magazine from its place on the empty recipe stand. Who needs recipes? That stand that I once gifted to JJ (because of the color) and the same one she eventually gifted back to me (because of the functionality) is built for perusing the latest British Vogue in between sautéing and stirring. And how. Those are my most precious hours spent in this home. Cooking alone, listening to some crooner from the 30's, maybe some Billie Holliday or someone else lovely, drinking wine in between switching from the mince to the chop to the julienne.

Today while midcook, I caught myself imagining someone coming home from work, to our home, throwing shit and a gorgeous attaché case and keys down on some gorgeous wooden chair in the hall, loosening some restricting article of clothing while breezing through the living room toward the direction of the lady standing in front of all of those beautiful spices wearing an apron covered in ink from printing sessions of Christmas past. Today I made a red curry dish paired with delicious basa fish over steaming jasmine rice. Cilantro seeping into the fingertips, the smell lingering on wrists and cheeks and forearms when brushing away at something absentmindedly in between chops. Delicious. Cooking for a cook is also terrifying, but I held my own and Mel passed my work with flying colors thankyouverymuch. Still, I kept thinking of that day when someone will come home and appreciate those smells and the fact that company is coming and the table looks nice. What? No art supplies, giant drawing pads scattered with fallen pencils from her hair?! No pens, no ruler, no tape, no prints all over? he will think. The evening was nice, but another body would have rounded out our dynamic well I think.

I am eating the leftovers as I write, dreaming of a kitchen and the man who comes home from work to eat the food and greet the lady.