if i could just put all of my wishes and all of my good things and strengths and passions into one big pot, stir them up all together, mince up garlic, ginger, some juicy red onions, thyme and some rosemary, stir and stir, play a little regina in the background, dance a bit while it bubbles, sit in that patch of sun that hits the dining room table just right while it simmers, read a chapter of my book while it boils, and then, just as the sun is setting, while the basilica bells chime seven, i would ladle it out into a white clay bowl (it would be red, like tomato, making stains on the side), and slip in a wide, deep spoon. the first taste would be knowing. i could slip my mouth around the spoon (it might click against my teeth)and pour in the liquid. it wouldn't hit me, it's not too spicy or too rich, it would settle, deep and flavorful, into me. by the end of the bowl i would be scraping up the last drips. i might even set down the spoon and lick the sides of the dish. but it would be enough. i wouldn't go back to the pot and look into the garlic residue, clinging to the shining sides, and wish i had made more. everything in me, every ingredient needed would have gone in, and i would know just what step to take next. i would go out, well stirred, well seasoned, and richly ready for what is to come.