Flashback

Five years old. Counters are so high when you're little. The oven is a monster in the corner. Large mouth creaking open like a trap door. This is a dangerous place I'm told. Hot things burn. Sharp things cut. No running in here! The cake will sink. The food sustains and it forever smells like a marriage of curry and coffee I am too young to imbibe. Warm light fills the space. A huge wooden spoon and fork cast shadows like Medieval weapons on a museum wall. There are too many cooks in here. Mothers, aunts, second cousins- all speaking in sotto voce about things that should not be done in any kitchen. Or surrounding rooms for that matter. I am too small to reach the top shelf where a treasure of unspeakably sweet treats reside. I am not too small to understand the unspeakable things I overhear. Invisibly, I listen... and know I'll have a kitchen to cook up my own savory mysteries someday.