this is my element.

i didn’t think i’d get used to these mornings, but today, i woke up and couldn’t wait to be on the highway. it’s a twenty five minute drive, and only two weeks in, it’s already become one of the best parts of my routine. i like having the time to wake up, listen to the news, sing along to the radio. i like having the time to think-

this morning i was thinking about you. on an index card at a stoplight, i wrote down a few more fragments of what i’ve been meaning to say.

last night wasn’t easy. too many nights have hurt more than i want to explain. sometimes sleep isn’t enough to wash this away.

in the locker room, i strip off my street clothes, and this is when things change. ‘checks’ are my black and white checkered pants, ‘whites’ are my chef’s jacket and neck scarf. i put these on, my uniform, and suddenly, the good and the bad of yesterday or last week or even this morning don’t matter anymore. they’re just not there, and i am. looking in the mirror, i put up my hair, tucking strands under my hat. i run my fingers across my face, smoothing my skin. i check my pocket for notecards, pens, and a thermometer. when i walk out the door, i’m someone else, distinctly different from the girl ten minutes ago.

i am myself.

in the kitchen, it doesn’t matter that i’m living with my exboyfriend, that i’m tired of arguing, that i haven’t slept at home for two nights now and the move planned for three weeks from now seems too far away. it doesn’t matter that i’m not writing as much as i need to be, that i’ve got a short story that’s giving me trouble and another just waiting to be born. it doesn’t matter that i miss my best friend, that my heart doesn’t know who it wants anymore, and that sometimes, the way the phone doesn’t ring feels like a knife in my side. it doesn’t matter when i last cried, if i’m not sure i even know what love is anymore, or how i’m trying so hard to understand the way that labeling myself ‘gay’ will change me in everyone else’s eyes.

in the kitchen, it doesn’t matter.

what’s important is that today, i saw the differences between white, blonde, and brown roux. i know when the flour and fat become something more than just paste in a pan and how they’ll darken so quickly, a nutty deep scent rising from the stove. cook too long, and you’ll make it bitter. use a black roux for gumbo, when a little bit bitter is what you want. what’s important is that today, i made a perfect brown roux, smooth and thick, looking like dark butterscotch in my saucepan.

with the roux, i started my sauce espagnole. saute mirepoix with clarified butter, add tomato puree and saute more. when it’s browned and the onion smell is sweet and heavy, add it to some of the veal stock. add the sachet, bay and thyme and peppercorns and parsley stems, and then the roux. skim and wait and skim and wait and skim and wait. sauce espagnole, brown sauce, this is one of the mother sauces. there are five. this is foundation.

this feels like magic.

later, i roasted green chiles, scraping the skins from the flesh and dicing them for polenta. i quartered pounds of mushrooms and rough-chopped hazelnuts for a stuffing. i sliced and fried bacon to season baked beans. i helped peel skins from sweet potatoes and tomatoes, helped dice apples and crumble bleu cheese. there’s an event tomorrow, and they needed our hands. this was the first time we’ve had a full kitchen, everyone busy with something, and god. i was humming, knife flying, knowing the answers before i thought to ask the questions-

this is my element.

something about the chaos of a kitchen makes me feel so calm.

i stayed two hours late. leaving past two, it was already seven hours on my feet, no breaks. my legs ache, and the muscles in my back don’t remember how to relax. my wrists are sore from the heavy whisks and spoons, from lifting stock pots larger than my torso. there are nicks on my fingers from these knives i love, so sharp they’ll slice potatoes like butter, and a burn on my wrist from his spoon on the stove. yes, this is pain- but i walked out smiling.

i don’t remember the last time i was so excited about waking up to the next day.