I just finished cooking dinner with my friend/little brother Jonathan, with all the preparatory work handled by our friend Liz. It was simple, chicken alfredo made with sauce from a jar, but it was a pleasant experience. There’s nothing quite like sharing a kitchen with someone you are comfortable with. It’s like starting a creative venture together. You’re forced to be close to each other, and so you accept that person in your personal space. Usually I don’t like to share a kitchen because of that closeness, but with good friends I don’t mind at all.
After cooking, we shooed away Jonathan’s cat, Kitten, while we ate. We listened to his jazz-fusion and made cheesy jokes together. I wonder which was cheesier: the jokes, or the pasta?