Both Casualties

Saturday afternoon and Simone brought the groceries in through the door already talking, which is how most of our kitchen sessions start, some fact she picked up mid-week that needed somewhere to go. This one was about miso. Or it started there. By the time I had the cutting board out we had covered miso, the fermentation thing I mentioned a few weeks ago, and one genuinely unresolved question about whether caramelizing counts as a form of patience or just heat applied to sugar. I did not have a good answer. I started chopping.

The onions were large. I will say that in my defense. I was two minutes in, trying to breathe correctly per Simone's very specific instructions, through the mouth, apparently, which I was doing, when my eyes decided otherwise. The knife kept moving. The eyes did what they wanted. Simone, who had been standing at a reasonable distance issuing advice, also started crying. This felt fair.

The fumes reached her anyway.

We ended up leaning against the counter for a few minutes while the situation settled, the half-chopped onion just sitting there on the board waiting, entirely unbothered. Simone gestured at it like it had done something. I took that as the accurate summary of events.

Regrouping.

The thing eventually got cooked. The miso question got answered at the table, mostly, though I am not confident we agreed. The cord is still on the windowsill. The pothos has another new leaf coming in, which I noticed while the pan was heating. Some things in this kitchen just continue regardless.