The kitchen was my refuge. It was the most lively space of our house, where actually things happened. There were maids that laughed and talked loud. It was fun because I could actually see things being made and if my mom was not around I could actually do something that the women of my family never did: get my hands dirty and cook something. Sometimes the maids would allow me to add flour to the doughs or stir the beans and lick my fingers in the process. It was a liberating feeling. The kitchen filled the house with wonderful smells – there was the daily smell of rice and beans, of steaks, cakes, pies and the yeasty, slightly sweet aroma of a freshly baked bread, which I loved. One of my favorite thing was to cut a slice of a loaf fresh out of the oven and spread butter and honey on it. I can still taste the texture and the sweetness of the honey melting with the butter.
[More on that later]
arizona-me 