Aroma of home

It usually goes like this... I get home, sometimes undress, most times not, and head to my kitchen. It's a decent size kitchen and usually I've got stuff in my fridge to cook. Lately cooking is becoming a sort of therapy and a way to cure any lingering culture shock. Today I tried, for the second time, making sada roti in a shallow frying pan. It was okay-ish. The loyah was good, if I do say so myself. Put just the right amount of baking powder and kneaded it just the way mom showed me...most times I didn't care to follow her instructions but now, i feel it's more than feeding myself if I don't get this. Rehersing memories. I think about the way the food from different cultures ended up in Trinidad as I get my hands dirty in the kitchen tonight. Perhaps it was similar therapy for those immigrants, indentureds and slaves. It's a worthwhile supposition. Now I'm an expatriate in Japan and my journey home is with my tastebuds. One night I dreamt I flew all the way back home, only to insist I get shadon beni, enough that I could bring back to Japan with me. So I guess I'm gonna be here a little longer than a year...my mind and subconscious seem ready, once I am satisfied with a few home comforts I'll be doing this kitchen ritual until 2012. And if I spoil my dinner, it'll be another homesick night in Japan. Bon appetit.