A Pinch of Salt

(Disclaimer: Man Allowed post to follow...)

If anyone knows the importance of dining well, it would be my friend, John.

His kitchen is immaculate and each tool required for the preparation of a meal is of the finest quality.

He once gifted me a sushi knife that slices through fish like a hot knife through butter.

He’d bought the same and thought of me. He’s thoughtful like that. And a good friend to have in your corner.

He’s perfected something of an art I’m yet to truly learn.

When I have no one to cook for, I will often make myself a dinner of Bovril on toast or a bowl of Greek yoghurt and tuna and green peppers. It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s just that my love of preparing a hearty meal is centred so on my love of feeding others.

John, however, will happily spend his hours in the kitchen even if it’s simply dinner for one.

We’re pretty simpatico, him and I. He’s just a wiser and older version 2.0 of me.

And oh, but to crack the nod when John invites me for dinner for two.

John lived in Spain for many years, and as such, so often he dishes up the most heavenly of Spanish-inspired cuisine. Having visited Spain in my teenage years with my mother and grandparents, I’m as happy as a warm and fuzzy Pooh Bear when a taste of this glorious country is on the menu.

Aside from the architecture of Gaudi which I am smitten with, I fell in love with Spain almost instantly. While my grandparents performed the tourist rituals, I would merrily frequent their markets simply to take it allin or find a cosy spot in a café where I could people watch and listen in on a language that sounded so very beautiful but was quite incomprehensible to me. For my own survival needs, I got by very well with the Spanish words for milk, lavatory and ‘Two beers, please.’ (For mi madre and me).

I suppose, of the lessons I have to learn from John, of which there are many no doubt, when it comes to food, it would have to lie in finding pleasure in nourishing one’s self, in lovingly and dutifully preparing a meal for myself alone.

Often in hard times, John has delivered a bottle of good wine and a fillet steak for me after work. And truly, there is something about a little self-indulgence here and there, that lifts the spirits and satisfies both belly and weary soul.

Beyond this, John is also a very wise man when it comes to matters of the soul in all its glorious guises. Whenever I feel heartbroken, or messed up, or insecure, he reassures me that it is only human and that these are all part and parcel of the larger experience, life’s mysterious gifts. I think he consoles me so because him and I are so very alike.

For all our hearts may be broken from time to time, they seem to repair themselves remarkably well, finding themselves ready yet again, to blindly go forth and love with everything we’ve got.

Often only to find ourselves heartbroken again.

Ah, but then, what is life without love? As I tell myself many times, I would rather live a life falling in love with great men, even if my love is unrequited, than never to know love at all.

And it was on a day of heartbreak, that I went off to John’s to lick my wounds.

He has a way of making me laugh, in spite of myself sometimes, and I always leave feeling cheerier, in love again… In love with life, and perhaps even heart ache for all its own special brand of beauty.

That day, he tested out his new espresso machine on me and gifted me the most delicious cappuccino I have ever tasted. Now believe me, I didn’t think anything could beat the mornings of cappuccinos and pastries in Spain.

But John has The Knack , you see.

Only the finest of beans, a smooth and creamy froth, and with salted caramel stirred in for good measure. And that’s my John. For all that we are both sensitive creatures, he’s learnt that all things in life are all that much better when taken with a pinch of salt.

Still Life with Coffee by Ivan Kolisnyk