The Final Sunday Scribblings Make-up Post-Prompt "Food"
Food
Our kitchen isn't small, by any means, but somehow, when we're cooking together, we just can't seem to keep from bumping into each other. Even if one or the other of us isn't actively helping in meal preparation, we still gravitate into the kitchen when the other one is working. I like to have my MP3 player going so I can sing along to a classic rock mix while I'm working. Sometimes he joins in, especially if it's an Eagles or Creedence Clearwater Revival song. He's even been known to join me in rocking out to “Inna Godda Davida” (yes, the seventeen minute Iron Butterfly version-because anything less just doesn't cut it) on occasion.
There are times when we don't bother with the music, especially if we're making something that isn't going to take all that long to cook. We'll sit and talk, making jokes and carrying on a conversation that someone outside of our relationship would never understand, even with a million years to attempt to decipher it. If we're actually cooking together, then it becomes an intricate ballet of timing and position while we work together and around each other to create the meal we're going to eat.
If he's cooking and I'm not helping, I'm usually reading him the latest thing I've been writing. I find our kitchen time to be especially useful when I'm trying to write dialog. It's easier to find the bad or rough spots when it's being read aloud, especially when a particularly clunky spot makes him drop his knife or spoon in the midst of food preparation.
Even though it's a matter of routine, I'm still surprised at how food becomes a bonding experience for us on a level that is so much deeper than just eating. Making food together or just being in the kitchen with each other while the food is being made feeds more than just our bodies, it feeds our minds and souls and, most importantly, our hearts.
Our kitchen isn't small, by any means, but somehow, when we're cooking together, we just can't seem to keep from bumping into each other. Even if one or the other of us isn't actively helping in meal preparation, we still gravitate into the kitchen when the other one is working. I like to have my MP3 player going so I can sing along to a classic rock mix while I'm working. Sometimes he joins in, especially if it's an Eagles or Creedence Clearwater Revival song. He's even been known to join me in rocking out to “Inna Godda Davida” (yes, the seventeen minute Iron Butterfly version-because anything less just doesn't cut it) on occasion.
There are times when we don't bother with the music, especially if we're making something that isn't going to take all that long to cook. We'll sit and talk, making jokes and carrying on a conversation that someone outside of our relationship would never understand, even with a million years to attempt to decipher it. If we're actually cooking together, then it becomes an intricate ballet of timing and position while we work together and around each other to create the meal we're going to eat.
If he's cooking and I'm not helping, I'm usually reading him the latest thing I've been writing. I find our kitchen time to be especially useful when I'm trying to write dialog. It's easier to find the bad or rough spots when it's being read aloud, especially when a particularly clunky spot makes him drop his knife or spoon in the midst of food preparation.
Even though it's a matter of routine, I'm still surprised at how food becomes a bonding experience for us on a level that is so much deeper than just eating. Making food together or just being in the kitchen with each other while the food is being made feeds more than just our bodies, it feeds our minds and souls and, most importantly, our hearts.