The Kitchen

My home.

Spoons, forks, spatulas, serrated knives, and cleavers.

You need the proper tools.

The grill, caramelized onions, tortillas.

Touch a pepper and forget about a dollar bill.

That’s what happens here.

A quick rest against the fridge

Before the rush.

My kitchen.

Strain the pasta, flame the red thick sauce

Too much sauce on the apron.

It drips on the floor. Never again.

Order up:

Goat cheese, baguettes, extra virgin olive oil.

The cat’s footprints in the spilled oil.

The sound of peppercorns grinding.

To prep a kitchen,

To smell the tastes,

Nice pot of rice and beans,

Maria’s verde chile pork,

Filet mignon sautéed in mushrooms.

Fryer meats,

Left in the fridge three days for seasoning.

The screams of the meat touching the flames.

Keep a smile… Don’t forget… The kitchen.

I won’t be able to clean it all up.

We ship out tomorrow.

I kiss my kitchen goodbye.

And embrace “El cocinero,”

My black M-16A4 assault rifle.