i cook because the collision of tastes
in my mouth is there
all. the.
time.
i can be talking to you (and am) one minute and
figuring out how raisins and blue cheese
might work on
steak the
next.
you can ask me a simple thing like
do i like
(fill-in-the-blank) and i'm
gone. my head is not so much in
a cookbook as it
is
the cookbook.
when i say my prayers
(which tastes like baked apples)
i ask Jesus (rhubarb)
to forgive (gravy),
remember (angel food cake),
and love (no flavor).
love, if you do it right,
doesn't need a flavor.
it has its
own.
