The flavor bender

The kitchen was visibly humming, it was inviting and I was cooking.

The air was alive with the aroma of the sauteeing garlic and ginger. Takashi liked his chicken with a healthy amount of garlic and ginger. He liked meat much more than vegetables, especially red meat. Takashi was not a fan of sour, sticky food but the dish for him tonight was orange chicken. He was twelve, but his tastes akin to a man much older.

On the second stove, a pot of boiling water had pasta in it. Sakura's favorite western dish, not because it tasted good, she said. Sakura just wanted to slurp it like the lady and the tramp movie. Sakura wanted to be American since she was younger. She copied their hairstyles and even learned English at such a young age. Many of her teachers were impressed but I knew she just wanted to talk to her American friends online. She was fifteen but behaved much younger for her age.

But tonight was different. I had a surprise and I wanted them to react accordingly.

To the orange chicken, I added more orange zest and a dash of vinegar, a tad more than usual. The aim was to surprise him beforehand so as to numb him to the shock that followed.

After the pasta was boiled, to the tomato sauce I added a habanero chili. Chopped with seeds and all to give it a spicy kick. It would be too strong for Sakura but I wanted her to be too distracted with the heat to give me time. She tended to interrupt people in the middle of a conversation, in her excitement to talk about some American movie star. She was inconsiderate like that, I was hopeful the spice would make her forget her train of thoughts.

For dessert, I made lava cake. For Takashi, I added a pinch of coffee to his cake. He had a very low tolerance for caffeine and immediately perked up even with a small amount. I wanted him to pay attention to my words. He had a tendency to daydream and fidget while eating.

For Sakura's cake, I added twice the sugar into the cake batter for her tongue which would be scorched after the spicy pasta. My children hated wasting food and after living on scraps during my unemployment, they were thankful and never complained. No matter the taste, they ate in patience.

My announcement sure would stir a mess, but they needed to hear it.

When I was widowed, I stopped cooking for five years. At that time all we ate was microwaved meals and store-bought lunch boxes. Cooking was a huge part of his life and when he died, the kitchen, pots, glasses, and everything he touched, mourned his death. More than the children and our lives, I felt the kitchen experienced his absence in a more intimate way.

The first day I cooked after his death, I felt the equipment resisting me. The rice was too salty, the curry was too spicy and the plates slipped my grasp. Glasses crushed against my pressure. I realized perhaps I was too crude, too unpolished to grace his kitchen.

That day I joined a short educational course for home cooks. My instructor, a friend of his agreed to enroll me for free. It was a generous offer but a part of me was afraid to adorn his cooking apron, to dare replace him in the kitchen.

Because that was where he shined, he was in his element. I'm nothing but bland porridge while he was the whole masala.

Tonight, the kitchen was alive, with my talent, my way of cooking, and the overbearing aroma of delicious food. I was able to bend the dishes to speak my bidding. To evoke the emotions I wanted. It was a gift he had and I liked to think he passed it on to me.

But I couldn't help feeling I was just a replacement. Just a vessel to carry his knowledge and talent.

I wondered whether my children wished I died instead of him, after all, I was the one driving. He was the talented parent, the good-looking one, and the parent with magic in his fingers. He was jovial, somewhat harsh but imperfect in an endearing way.

Bits of him lived on through Takashi, with his unruly hair, and Sakura, with her gray eyes.

And now, finally, I had a part of him too.

But tonight, the children might think ill of me, or worse, hate me.

Tonight things would change but in my heart, I would never forget that first dish, that first smile after a perfect Tonkatsu bowl. I may be changing but I feel he would want that. I feel that even the children would want that, eventually.

"Always experiment with flavors, Hinata. You are too meek."

Those words used to hurt but now they propelled me forward. I was no longer meek and I knew how to be happy. I knew how food made people happy, sad, angry, and excited. Food can be a cornucopia of emotions in the hands of the right cook.

I smiled while adding more lime to Takashi's chicken. I wanted him to scrunch his face with the sourness while his mind processed the news to come. Meanwhile, Sakura's pasta sauce gave out spicy fumes that settled beneath my throat.

I wanted them to be happy but for now, a certain amount of discomfort was inevitable.

You see, my children were quite possessive.

As for my dish, I chose a plain grilled chicken with cabbages tossed around with lemon. It was simple but my kids, they would feel guilty about the varieties on their plate compared to mine. I wanted them to pity me. To think I was sacrificing my tastebuds to appease them. And to a certain extent, this was true for a long time.

At last, the night followed after a suffocating day.

I smiled to myself, the scene unfolded before me as I predicted. At last, just as Sakura took a sip of water and Takashi's face scrunched up with a bite of the sour chicken, I took in a deep breath.

"Children, I am getting married."

The culinary world lost a star, a legend everyone loved and in turn, gained me. A flavor bender. Or at least that was how I perceived myself to be.