On The Interpretation of Occult Cuisines.
One day my dad asked for help at the college
where he cooked in the kitchen of privilege.
Angry and confused at this unwelcome
invitation into his working life,
I sat beside the ovens without speaking
until lunch, when he insisted
I help carry trays to the dining hall—
but then made me wait while his boss
told the students they were lucky
to have such a fine chef in residence,
and invited them to applaud the father
standing silently by me.
While they obliged I stood
with eyes down, embarrassed
at this adulation for a man
known to no one there.
We never spoke of it afterwards,
but years later I saw that the meal
had been cooked for a single,
hungry, obdurate student.
No comments:
Post a Comment