culinary doings

It’s a Saturday afternoon. Katie J. is grilling a cheese sandwich. I’m making myself a salad. I walk by her sandwich on the stove and notice that it’s burning. I tell her and she runs to rescue it. I make fun of her cooking abilities and then try to lighten my teasing by telling her I’m just as bad. But I’m not, I think to myself. I finish my salad and put dressing on it. I take a huge bite, full of dressing, and feel like I’m going to die. What’s wrong, Katie asks me. I can’t talk because my mouth is burning too much. Did you put something hot on it? Drink milk she says. I drink the milk but my lips are still on fire. I look at what I put on my salad. A blend of hot peppers, salts and vinegar. I’m holding a cold, wet dish rag to my lips as Katie rinses my salad free of the stuff. She laughs and I laugh and she says aren’t we a pair in the kitchen. We sit at the table to eat and have a good conversation about life.