Today would have marked his 84th birthday, my grandfather. The only reason why I decided to learn to cook. He’s not someone I speak of freely. It takes time, effort and trust for me to do so. Cancer got the best of him by the age of 54. I guess selfishly I always wanted to preserve those memories of me in the kitchen with him. Those sweet moments of solitary bliss as I watched him move throughout the kitchen with such grace and style. With only a kitchen towel over his shoulder, a wooden spoon in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other with the sound of Placido Domingo in the background. The air was filled with so many incredible scents that I would catch myself salivating with excitement of whatever he was creating. No one was ever allowed in the kitchen but me. And with 8 years of age I would sit on a chair inside our tiny kitchen with my feet dangling over the edge barely containing my excitement. The world was ours alone. I had many extraordinary awakenings in that k...