I’ve always seen myself as cold-hearted, partly because of my extremely religious upbringing and never being good enough, not being humble enough, being a sinner! I must be bad! Rotten inside!
But when I peel the layers, I see a kinder version of myself.
The Oxford Dictionary defines romance as the expression of love, characterized by an idealized view of reality. To me, that looks like when I cook in solitude and I eat standing. When I cook out of the kitchenette in the tiny studio in Vallarta where I’ve been staying this week. When I cook and no one is watching and it’s all for me. I’m not trying to please anyone and that feels like the kind of unadulterated love we all deserve to offer ourselves.
Love is easy to find in the nourishment that cooking offers.
When I cook for Javier, and when I cook for friends and people I love, I want to transfer the rush of emotions I feel through the food I cook.
We love as best as we can.
We make the romesco we can, with kimchi, gochujang, rice vinegar, pickled red peppers, and smoked pimentón that breaks the rules, but a romesco that feels right in all the punchy ways. Lamb chops that are sesame-seed-crunchy, but way cheaper than a rack of lamb. Chops cost less than half the price per pound of a rack but also cook with a quick sear, and you can gnaw on the bones while dipping them in the kimchi romesco with a squeeze of lemon.
Love is fluid.