I’ve been thinking a lot about food lately, partly because I haven’t had (or made) time to prepare much myself, but mostly because I’ve really appreciated what has been made for me. There’s nothing I like more when I’m away than a little food from home, lovingly prepared. Whether it was going away to a summer camp, or to college, or now to work, it fills me with a sense of home before I even take the first bite.

I remember who made it, and how, and where I was when I tasted it. I remember how it felt to sit close and talk while we ate it together. I remember the light in the kitchen, and the sound of running water and dishes in the sink, pets circling round my feet.

Eating it again, alone in the impersonality of a hotel kitchenette, I am comforted, knowing there’s nothing better to come home to than a kitchen full of dinner.