It’s night time. I pull up in front of my house on the way back from running errands. My French neighbor has dinner guests. I can see them through his open window. Bathed in warm yellow light are tiny snippets of his evening — a tablecloth covered with a red Provencal fabric, a bread basket and a bottle of wine. Faint sounds of animated French conversation and jazz music drift out the window. It’s obviously one of those long drawn out French meals punctuated by good food and great conversation. Encapsulated in this window is a scene of coziness and warmth, hospitality and friendship — all the wonderful things that food is a conduit for.
I’m so jealous. In my current kitchenless state, I’m looking at a world divided between those with kitchens and those without kitchens. When rationality returns to my brain, I realize that a kitchen and a dining room are just tools. It’s people and company that bring them to life.
Without a kitchen, I feel like an orphan, shuffling myself to other people’s kitchens, i.e. restaurants. Tonight, the older man at the Vietnamese pho place I frequent recited my usual order right when I sat down. After I agreed to it, he returned within 5 minutes with my food. I have to admit, it was comforting to have someone recognize you and know what you like to eat.
4233 El Cajon Boulevard
San Diego, CA 92105