split the yolk

a note for the new year

Who you set the table for is who will build the universe

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recipe for the table of the the year
prep-time: 365 days.
servings: 1.
ingredients:
5 servings of citrus fruits,
3 tablespoons of love.
a quarter cup of joy.
5 servings of intelligence.
1 lemon, zested and juiced.
2 sprigs of fresh rosemary
1 pinch of paprika

I am hoping for a year of good meals.

Very Venusian of me, I know. I’ve been looking at different recipes. Some spices have notes, I’ve learned. There are base notes, middle notes, and top notes. Black cumin is a base note, saffron, a top note. I’ve been using this ‘note’ system for spice blends. I realized that a lot of my newfound love for cooking and good food comes from a desire to host dinner parties. I used to think cooking took a lot of effort until I moved away and had to cook to survive. I realized how fun it could be when you have a table to cook for.

I tried new recipes in my dorm room, blending rosemary and oregano, feta cheese and tomato paste, playing around with lemon zest and fresh-squeezed orange juice. I saw visions of yellow, green, red, brown. I saw fruits in my sleep, payed attention to the nutrition labels at the supermarket, and ate sandwiches of deli meat and Italian vinaigrette for weeks, with new vegetables each time.

Next year will be bigger, badder, better. I keep thinking about how many people I can set the table for. How many plates? What pattern should the table coverings be? Should I buy some new silverware?

My mind thinks about food a lot differently now. The tic of the timer burns behind my eyelids, the sensation of a wooden spoon spinning in a pot lines in my future. I think of the feeling of fresh rosemary; the prickly tingling at my fingertips, the lime juice dripping down the side of my finger as I squeeze. Oranges and Mandarins have kept me soft company. I sliced into apples and peaches when the days got darker and my homework piled up. I think my love language next year will be cooking — here, have a seat, I’ve cooked something up. Here, I’ll peel an orange for you. Do you want some coffee? I have a batch of cookies in the oven. I love you. I want us both to eat well.

I’m going to make it a practice to learn how to cook. I’ll learn the note system of spices. I’ll read recipes, make my own. I’ll make my dinner table a clean invitation, direct and sharp. A space for conversation, for community.

I used to think that I was a house where love went to die. My kitchen was desolate, the seats missing. But, I’m opening the curtains now and letting the light in. I’m rearranging the furniture and opening the doors and fixing up the guest bedrooms. I’m making space at the dinner table. I am going to let the love in. I am going to build a garden and open the windows so that people can see the open sea. I will give in and let love force me to tremble. I will build a home where pain can go to be heard and where it can go to rest.

My mom once told me it’s a shame that I have such a big heart with a love I don’t let out as often as I should. I hope she’s proud of me. I finally opened the doors.

I think everyone’s hungry. For variety, for love, for understanding. Who would we be without our hunger? We drive ourselves mad for it. We wish to feed the pain, the anger. Hunger makes a guilty skin. I am waiting too, for the sour to turn sweet.

I wrote once about how I feel sad in grocery stores. I don’t know what I’m looking for, sometimes. This year, I’ll work on making better lists. I have a pasta recipe in my notes. I thought up a spice blend and wrote it down on the corner of a napkin, folded it, and stuck it in one of the pockets of my backpack. I had a dream once of owning a Cappuccino machine and a set of decorate mugs. I’ll get to it this year. Instead of crying while watching the coffee beans grind, I’ll think of their flavor. The different types. I will set the table for myself too.

This year, when night falls, I’ll cook up a chicken instead of crying. I’ll eat in front of my window. Grocery store visits will be a form of intimacy. I’ll think of my hometown, the spices used in traditional Mexican recipes, and I’ll buy them at my local grocery store. Coriander. Cloves. Thyme. Cumin. I’ll bring the flavors of home back with me. I’ll take notes of my family’s favorite foods and try them out while I’m away. When I’m sad, I’ll go out for a mango coconut smoothie and remind myself of my sister.

It will be a good year. I will make a good table for us to sit at. I’ll set the table, start up on appetizers. I will have an endless supply of recipes. I’ll even bake us a cake (first, I’ll have to learn how to bake one first).

My grandma was the first to teach me how to cook. She told me that no matter the recipe, it will only taste good if you pour love into it. People can taste the love. People can taste emotion. I bought a new saltshaker and I keep it at the center of the table. It sits unopened. My grandma told me salt was essential at the table because it’s purified. Salt purifies and heals. I will keep it at my table.

A lot of people start the new year with resolutions. This year, I started with a prayer. I pray that I have people to cook for. I pray i have a table to sit at. I pray I have the courage to cook. I pray I have the food to eat.I pray we enjoy more than we endure.

Happy New Year.