I am waiting for my husband to come home with bunches of greens from his mother’s house. We are going to rinse the earth from the leaves, smash and peel garlic cloves, dice red onions, sprinkle spices and boil and simmer.
Our fingers will be coated with spice and juice. We will stand in the kitchen, keeping an eye over the heat, noses tickled by the aroma.
The chit chat will be idle. I will tell him how delicious it will be, our feast.
Occasionally, I will inch closer to him, crane my neck, pout my lips and his head will bend down to receive