Cook.
Smell.
Taste.
Eat.
Drink.
Share.
Repeat as necessary.
For better or for worse, those actions are now the definition of the person who is writing this. Were I not able to perform them, I would cease to exist.
In Letters to a Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke tells a soldier who aspires to be a poet and has sought Rilke’s advice that （and I paraphrase） only if he feels like he would die were he unable to write should he be a poet. That made perfect sense to me forty years ago when I first read it, and it makes even more sense to me today.
* * *
As I write this, I can once again cook and enjoy meals with my family and friends, and although I cannot yet get through an entire T-bone steak, there is quite a bit I can eat.
Such as…
…sole meunière and tortellini con panna, risotto, pancakes, salami （slowly）， pasta alla carbonara, shrimp fried rice, dim sum, a thin piece of toasted homemade bread with butter and jam, fresh-squeezed orange juice, tomato juice, young Pecorino cheese, honey, paella, Tuscan fish stew, asparagus, roasted peppers, Italian tuna fish packed in oil, fresh tomato salad with cucumbers and basil, gazpacho, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, feta and cucumbers wrapped in a warm tortilla, chili con carne （extremely mild!）， udon or soba noodles in broth, sheep-or cow-milk ricotta, tuna melts, razor clams, mussels, oysters, clams on the half shell, goat cheese, langoustine, pasta Bolognese, Swiss chard, Felicity’s roast potatoes （slowly and with lots of gravy）， blueberries, pears, pizza, zucchine, eggplant parmigiana, anchovies （not too salty）， paté, olives, baked Camembert, minestrone, pasta con piselli, lasagna （not too cheesy）， fresh peas, green beans, sautéed mushrooms, blueberry pie, baked beans, baked sea bass, lobster （mostly the claws, with a lot of melted butter）， tarte Tatin, bouillabaisse, rabbit stew, beef stew, banana splits, cheese toasties, potato and leek soup, pasta all’Amatriciana （not spicy）， orecchiette with sausage and broccoli di rapa （slowly）， chicken soup with matzo balls, caviar and blinis （if someone else has bought the caviar）， a fried egg on a very thin toasted bagel, pasta con pesto, mashed potatoes, baked salmon, butternut squash soup, any kind of ravioli, cappelletti in brodo, mortadella and prosciutto （slowly）， gelato, espresso, and so on and so on and so on…
But the most important thing is, I can finally taste it all.
All of it.
All of that food glorious food.
London, 2021
I am in the kitchen with my six-year-old son, Matteo. We are seated on the floor doing a puzzle. Matteo is getting annoyed.
ME: Why are you so cranky?
MATTEO: I’m not cranky.
ME: Well, you are.
MATTEO: I’m not.
ME: Are you hungry?
A beat.
ME: Are you?
MATTEO: What?
ME: Hungry. Are you hungry?
MATTEO: I don’t know. What do we have?
ME: What we usually have.
A pause.
ME: What would you like?
No response.
ME: Matteo, what would you like to eat?
MATTEO: Ummm…
ME: Would you like a sandwich?
MATTEO: Maybe.
ME: A salami sandwich?
MATTEO: Ummm…
A pause.
ME: Tell me.
MATTEO: I don’t know.
ME: But you are hungry?
MATTEO: Yes.
ME: So, then, what would you like?
MATTEO: Ummm… I’m not sure.
A pause. I rise creakily from the floor.
ME: I’ll make you a salami sandwich.
MATTEO: Can I have a jam sandwich?
ME: Of course. Would you like a jam sandwich?
MATTEO: Uh-huh.
ME: Pardon?
MATTEO: Yes, please.
ME: Come and sit at the counter.
Matteo moves lethargically and sits on a stool at the kitchen counter. I remove the jam from the fridge and bread from the bag. Matteo stares into the void. I open up the jar of jam, take a knife from a drawer, and am about to spread jam on a piece of bread.
MATTEO: Salami.
ME: Sorry?
MATTEO: Salami. I’ll have salami. Salami sandwich.
I sigh.
ME: You’d like a salami sandwich?
MATTEO: Yes.
ME: You’re sure?
MATTEO: Yes.
ME : All right. How do you ask?
MATTEO: May I have a salami sandwich, please.
ME: Of course.
I put away the jam and take the salami out of the fridge.
ME: What would you like on it?
MATTEO: Ummm… cucumber.
I look at him, my eyebrows raised.
MATTEO: Please.
I get a cucumber and a peeler and start to peel it.
MATTEO: Oh! Don’t peel it!
I sigh, stop peeling, rinse off the cucumber, and begin to slice it. I make the sandwich with the salami and cucumber.