Once upon a time, a little dash of pepper could spice up your life.
Maybe a pinch of salt.
You’d open up that spice cabinet. Grab a few dried herbs. Throw in whatever smelled good. Whatever seemed right.
Sautéed with some diced garlic and chopped onions.
Garlic that wouldn’t coat your fingers with that filmy residue.
(You know, that slimy stuff that just so happens to stick to the knife and your hands. Even if you take the time to finely slice them. Even if you take extra care, and are careful to not cut yourself).
Onions that wouldn’t make you tear up, but instead, they’d make you laugh.
And perhaps your eyes wouldn’t water up.
Instead, they’d smile.
A little drizzle of olive oil.
The extra virgin kind. The pure kind.
Pure, like the purity of your inner-self.
Left on low heat. Not high heat.
Never high heat.
For if your rushed it, you’d get burned.
No really, you’d char those finely diced pieces of garlic.
Blacken the onions, instead of getting that caramelized concoction.
And the spices would be a waste…
Unsatisfying pan of blackened waste.
And you’d have to dispose of it,
Say goodbye to it
Before you even had a taste.