And sometimes in the car or while I'm trying to fall asleep.
I wonder about captors who make food for their prisoners. Making food for someone else, when it’s one-on-one, is such a tender act. And when the person relies on you for food, and has no other source, well. Prisoners become like babies. You’re keeping them alive with your choices and your cooking and your care. I once read a short story about a prison chef who used to cook at a fancy French restaurant. He became obsessed with creating an exquisite meal for a prisoner on death row. He skinned a rabbit, cooked it carefully, served it with a type of love. This is all important to me, somehow.