Good morning ladies and gentlemen! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been able to post and there are many and varied reasons for that. BUT in the interim I was able to take an amazing workshop with the amazing and talented Jon Cardew over at Bending Genres (check them out if you get even half a chance)! And I got a few pieces done and out! One is submitted for a publication right now, and the others…I’m thinking about.

So, here’s the challenge for YOU. Take a gander at this and let me know your thoughts. All of them. Like it? Great. Hate it, even better. Writing is meant to be read, and then thought about (y’know. like it’s art, or something. Weird.). So read away, then think and let me know thoughts digitally, physically (as in talking, ya bunch of weirdos) or however else you would wish to express yourself.

Thanks in advance and I PROMISE I’ll get back on the blog train. But, in the meantime, SportMartialArts.com is doing some great stuff as is akakarate.com. If you’re looking for martial arts goodness popping in the next little bit, check them out!

And now, without further ado, here’s Dinner for One.

The pan sizzles as I toss the onions onto the oiled surface.

With a crack and pop, the scent of caramelizing sugars start to fill the air.  I turn back to the cutting board and start dicing the chicken.

My kitchen is small. Tiny, in fact. I can turn from the stove to the table I have against the window where my cutting board is and only need to take a single step. My knife sighs against the chicken and thunks into the wooden board. Onions brown and I slice small bits of fat and tendon away from the breasts.

I take the cubes into my hands and do my half turn and one step to the stove. The chicken sings as it falls into the pan. Searing meat adds it’s smokey tang to the caramel in the air. I toss in some paprika and cumin, give the chicken and onions a swirl with a wooden spatula and take my turn and step back to the cutting board.

I trim the ends of the garlic cloves. The earthy murmur of cumin mixes with the sweet spike of paprika and their smells fill the kitchen. I crush the garlic with the flat of the blade and a sudden spike of musk dances into the air. I dice the garlic quickly, wiping the blade with a finger as the sticky residue builds.

A few moments more and I gather the slivers of flavor onto the blade, then take my half turn and a step to the stove. The garlic falls into the pan and I give the entire mix another swirl with the spatula.

I watch it cook and ignore the quiet apartment.

Focus on the task at hand.

One thing at a time.

And so we progress. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. There is nothing to worry about, nothing to stress. A sharper note of acid spikes through the cacophony of scents filling the kitchen and my eyes snap open.

Something is about to burn.

I flip the spatula through the mixt and see the start of blackening on the onions. I deem it done and turn the stove off, slide the pan off and grabbing two…one plate.

I slide dinner onto the plate and sit at the table. Alone.