Another dinner…

It was 2005.

I stood in the kitchen with Francis; I was making lunch. Or, at least, I was trying to. It was grilled cheese sandwiches with fig, and they were coming slowly, one-by-one. Everyone sat anxiously, full of hunger, at the table, waiting for the impossibly slow meal.

I remember feeling slightly awkward, but mostly I was focused on the food. Suddenly Francis turned to me and said, “I think it was very brave of you to do this.” I realized I should feel embarrassed.

Today, I did feel embarrassment as, once again, the kitchen won in my battle to prepare food for this family.

See, I offered, which I clearly shouldn’t have. I don’t know how I managed to use the oven yesterday (Was that successful salmon dinner really just yesterday?!), because it’s a foreign machine with strange systems and different settings and tonight I couldn’t even turn it on.

So it took an hour and a half to make overcooked pieces of pork.

At least the gazzpachio was good.

Hell, it could’ve been worse. And now, here I am, sitting in the sunroom with Ludo and Francis, soaking up life, laughing.

Suddenly this really does feel familiar, like home.