Meal Prep (Impatience).

 Labor Day prepping for the coming week in the hot kitchen. Semi-frozen swai fish filet thawing in rice vinegar and salt water. Red onion. Garlic. Chopped fine. Baby corn. Pre-washed. Chop into 'flowers'. Zucchini-ghetti. Shiitakes. Chopped blunt. Oil the wok. Feel the heat from the base. 

Gochujang, a dollop of the dark crimson paste on a bamboo-handled butter knife. Soy sauce. Coconut sugar, a light sweetness to balance the spiciness, about two spoonfuls, no measuring, just a controlled hand, and until Spirit tells you "That's enough"!

How I approach cooking has been a means for to measure my sense of independence, getting some momentary peace to myself at the end of the day. 

Believe me, I need it in this frustrating time in my life. Working paycheck to paycheck, stuck in a soul-crushing retail job which I have been working on what is now coming up on a year. What little control I find in this life I find in how much garlic I want to chop up and add to the pan, or how much longer to boil these beautiful purple potatoes for, or consolidating this delicious meal in the one clean glass Tupperware with a matching lid that I can scavenge in the communal bucket of lids and bowls. 

I can think and chit-chat to myself, while smelling and tweaking the flavors swirling up to the kitchen fan, steaming my tired face. I think about the past several hours, the last few weeks, and months, and reflect on how I've handled drama, family dynamics, work, and social life. What I have done, what I haven't said, what I want to do, I will get done. 

I think back to farming work I’ve done in the recent past: the sweet potatoes newborns I helped pull from the soil well into the dark, three summers ago. The shredded zucchini like green and crunchy bitter melon, but no where near as otherworldly looking, or as otherworldly bitter. Nothing compares to fresh garlic from the ground, bright orange scotch bonnets blended and bottled, so carefully tapping onto rice or a bland carb, the heat hitting the back of your throat instantly, but too good to not include in a dish if you have it at hand. 

I think about food and struggle, labor and care. I come from farming people, scarred and missing teeth, but who never equate their exhaustion with not cooking a full meal for loved ones. I have memories of taking dishes wrapped in tin foil to family friends and neighbors just because. 

Catching myself digging in, to stop and give a quick prayer, grateful for the flavors and textures melting in my mouth, too hungry to say much more beyond that. Finish off with an amen but not before the end of my fork is full.