salvia. [h.s. AU]

Chapter One

Miami, Florida

July 1997

Maria Eduarda

It doesn't matter what or where, everybody have their own safe haven. A place where you feel the most comfortable, your own little cocoon that shields you from the rest of the world. Is where you can take off the mask you're forced to use every day, resting it aside and granting permission to be the purest, raw, most primitive version of yourself.

For me, this place has always been a kitchen.

It's where I find solace after a particularly hard day, hiding amongst the colourful mix of different ingredients and textures, trying new recipes, discovering new tastes. You see, cooking is based in pure instinct - how you want people to feel when they taste your food. And you can't simply elicit any kind of feelings and sensations by theorising or planning, the knowledge is not in your mind, but in your tastebuds, your intuition. Meaning when I'm the kitchen, I have to turn my mind off, by definition.

Of course, when I'm studying new recipes I usually have a book or a notepad with me and I'm concentrating on learning, but when I'm cooking just for fun, all I do is follow my instinct.

The most magic thing about it, at least in my opinion, is that you can never cook the exact same dish twice. It will never taste the same, even if you use the same ingredients, cause food is not only based in what you put into the pan - it depends on your soul. Your mood. Your desire in that day.

No one experiences food in the same way, there's nuances to every palate, different states of mind, individual goals to each bite. You can touch a person's very soul with that tarte tatin you've made and yet mean absolutely nothing to their identical twin.

The kitchen is my refuge and sometimes, cooking is what keeps my sanity in check. And that's why I'm currently baking the third pie of the day, even though it's almost 1 in the morning of a fucking Wednesday.

So what that I'm an unemployed, 21 year old chick with more bills to pay than money to get? It doesn't matter that I've been relying on my best friend and also roommate to pay the rent for 2 months in a row, because hey, I made pie.

And let me tell you something, seems like third time is a charm. Even though I didn't have enough cherries to make 3 clafoutis, I used burberries on this one and I think it's going to fly.

Just as I'm taking it from the stove, almost having a olfactory orgasm, the phone rings in the living room, completely breaking the magic of the moment.

Oh, not again.

My heart immediately races against my rib cages, a bad feeling creeping through my conscience. I leave the pie over the sink, pausing the stereo from blaring my favorite Beatles song and run to the living room as fast as I can, the strident ring feeling like drills on my skull.