Dinner

I didn’t mean to make a ham.The fridge was too full, the radiator was clanging, and Mae texted “any meat???” like I was a butcher …

It was snowing. Or raining. Or both.That heavy slush that feels like grief and smells like February. The ham wasn’t planned.Mae had a concert, the …

The kitchen was already hot. not warm. hot. the kind of heat that makes your ankles sweat while you’re standing still. The pork belly was …

The onions hit the pan just as the rain started—soft and late, like it forgot something. I wasn’t planning to cook. The fridge was full …

It started because I bought too many tomatoes again.The kind that sit on the counter and dare you to ignore them.Some were soft. One had …

It started with eggplant.Not the one from the recipe. One in my fridge that had been in there long enough to feel… squishy at the …

The kitchen smelled like broth and wet rope.Not bad—just strange.November was late this year, and I was late with it. The fridge had grapes rolling …

The oven was already on. I wasn’t thinking shortcake. I wasn’t thinking much of anything. Just standing barefoot in the kitchen with one sock on …

It started with the pancetta.Sharp smell, salty and rich, clung to the air like a memory you didn’t invite in. The kind that sits on …

The weather said 42 but felt like 18.Mae had taken the last of the gloves and my coat still smells like burnt sugar from last …