A Memory of Food

When I was a child, my parents set many clear boundaries, but one in particular stood out: we children were never to use the stove when no adult was home. Despite that, when my parents were away, my ten-year-old brother and I (age seven) would sneakily disobey this rule.

Our combined culinary expertise extended to a rotating menu of three dishes: toasted sandwiches, boxed macaroni and cheese with ham, and instant noodles. Of course, there was always food prepared by our mother, ready to be warmed up, but on some days, the mac and cheese seemed more appealing than the grilled duck in the fridge. Because we knew our actions were strictly forbidden, we made sure to eat quickly and then air out the house. We cleaned as if wiping away evidence from a crime scene.