The Kitchen. Blood memories. A recipe passed through generations.
A memory so deeply embedded in our conscious, it takes carefully concocted smells and tastes to bring it to the surface.
Storytelling through food… this is the sweet taste of my childhood, of a summer breeze through a screen door. Or the hot-chocolate-dampened lips of a first kiss.
Life happens in the kitchen. Late night confessionals over tisane and a pot of Nutella. Elaborately choreographed family meals. Lessons learned, secrets exchanged, bonds forged, reinforced by our most visceral of senses. Accompanying the usual eye-popping flight of acrobatic choreography and pulsating music are the other three senses — the touch of hands in batter, the smell of cookies baking, the taste of roasted oregano — leading us through a span of times and countries, all the while the iconic kitchen our common meeting point.