Prologue

It is funny the things our mind remembers, the way a scent or a taste can take you back to a moment… long ago passed.  

For me, it has always been my grand-aunts' grape jam; the crush of the sugar crystals bursting on my tongue when I bit through the thickly buttered bread she always made me before bedtime.  I have looked for it everywhere since, but even my own attempts have never even come close, was it the dark grapes from her vine that made the difference or the thick sugar, or the love which she poured into it while she stirred the pot.  I will bank on the last one, because I do believe that you can savour the love in the food you make for someone who holds your heart tight.  When I made you that box; when I rolled the gnocchi and chopped the onions and tomatoes into the sauce that covered them, all my love for you went into it.  And I knew you felt it, when sometime later, when you ate something you thought I could not have made, you questioned me about it, implying that it was my doing, for it had tasted just like my food. 

Taste and memory collide to remind us of times shared; for my aunt and me the rituals before bed, the stories told, they were all fused in smell, taste and heart.  I used to wonder how she lived her whole life having only loved one man, for her husband had died so long before.  Regardless every night she said a prayer for him and spoke as if he was still in the room.  I ached for her, but she always believed that they would reunite when her time came and it was all that mattered, her life was to be lived regardless.  I have been lucky, I have known a handful of women who loved so powerfully, so limitedly and without apology, that it makes it kind of ok, to love you this much.  It matters not that it was not death that set you apart from me, and that this love I have for you, belongs only in my heart… its strength guides my soul even when I wish it would let me run away.

I wonder if you taste the lack of my cooking every time you have chocolate cake.  For my part I have not been able to make it since I made it for you… that favourite recipe has become yours and yours alone, and if ever you walk the path of my life again, it shall be made again, for you and you alone.  Your passion for that cake was unequivocal, and your excitement filled my heart.

In a moment of weakness you expressed that it was not the food, but your affection for me that you wanted to share in your passion for my cooking.  You bit your tongue, but the words were already out.  Unknown to me though your life was planned and your heart already given… though my sweet… my dearest it could not have mattered… for you took my heart the day you walked into the room…

always yours,

"Lois Lane"