Daniel Richardson                         Flow
Professor Jesse Miller                   Wording
Writing 110 H-4                            Structure
Favorite Meal Essay
20 September 2017
Taco Tuesdays

Tuesdays are terrific. A typical day is started with unpleasant morning awakenings for work, or school. Next would come the motley stew of the busy day, and taking orders at work, followed by the unpalatable ride home. But tonight is Tuesday.  Justine, my girlfriend and bestfriend alike will be waiting for me, as we undertake our time honored tradition of making tacos. Although one who is not familiar with our cooking might most of all appreciate the taste, my favorite part of making the meal is the quality time that I have with Justine and the memories that we make along the way.
It’s 5:45 and I am sitting in the chair, eyes on the few beach partons in the water. have spent the past 8 hours lifeguarding. Bored out of my mind, the only conversation that I know are of the life that is going on below me. I am as a gargoyle statue on the roof, all seeing, but never speaking. The breathable clean air is however tainted from the heavy coats of sunscreen that envelops my skin, and the boiling gatorade next to me.The next 15 minutes pass by as hours. The will that I have of leaving is the only thing that gets me through it.  Finally six o’clock rolls around and begins the mad dash to pack up and leave this seemingly terrible occupation.
I leave the park with windows rolled down and proceed to turn onto RI 44-East. The cool breeze is a welcoming feeling. Turning onto Durfee Hill Road, I find myself staring only at trees, very few house. When I reach the end of the road, I shift into four wheel drive, and begin down the dangerous and windy dirt roads until I reach the turn for Willie Woodhead. I take the sharp left, take a big gulp and pray that I can make it up the rocky uneven slope of their driveway. If I take my foot off the gas even for a second, I will begin to slip back.
Thankfully making it up the driveway, I am greeted a chorus of barking, courtesy of the welcoming party of the dogs, Buddy and Bailey. I can hear Justine’s dad on the backhoe in the back, however I note his presence more by the foul, but familiar stench of his cigar. I ignore it as best I can. Walking to the door, I hear the gravel crunching under my feet. I step through the door and am immediately in a different welcoming world of peace. I give Justine a hug and kiss, her tied back hair smells of apple shampoo. I run up the stairs and throw my things down quick, scaring the cat as I dart back to the kitchen. We sit down at the table for a few seconds and discuss our respective days. The friendly chatter especially meaningful, as it is my first of the day, but we are both excited to begin cooking. Putting our list of ingredients together, we break and race to gather supplies. Justine sends me to gather the meat and seasoning, she grabs the pan.
While cooking may be dear to both of us, it holds especially close to Justine’s heart. Early in Justine’s childhood, her mother was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. The state of her condition is debilitating at times, leading Justine to have to learn to cook and to support her family at an early age. She however has turned obligation into inspiration and hobby alike. The kitchen is both her workspace and her preferred office of therapy. It is this sense of finding comfort in the kitchen that brings us together. Standing there at the counter, Justine gets to thinking
Taco Tuesdays have become almost like a holiday for us. The time we’ve spent in the kitchen together is some of my favorite memories. From browning the beef to cutting up the lettuce and tomatoes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The process of creating tacos really does bring us closer.

It’s a simple process, but a rewarding one. First comes the sizzle, the meat hits the pan. The scent is rich, I hear my stomach growl. As the meat begins to brown, I come to life. I purposely begin to stir the meat excessively to get a rouse out of her. Soon enough I begin to dance around and lift her above my head, running across the kitchen in a figure 8 pattern carrying her. I am no longer a statue, but a beating heart and moving body. Putting her down as I pretend to drop her, I run back to the kitchen and begin to stir obscenely again.
As I mind the meat and set the table, Justine gets out the cutting board  and proceeds to carry out her gentle but precise, practiced rhythm of cutting tomatoes and lettuce. Her work is that of a practiced surgeon, each cut more defined than the last. After cutting, she systematically places each and every “topping” into coordinated bowls. All the while, I want to make a joke about her perfection, but I hold off. I won’t bother her. Instead, I turn my attention to draining the fat from the meat, turning the hot water on in the sink to avoid a clog. By the time I stir in the water and seasoning, the air is filled with a whole new sensation of what is truly going on around me. The feast has just begun to come together. We lay the bowls across the counter, and carry napkins to the tray tables waiting for us in the living room.
Scene 3: Sitting at the table reminiscing
While the process of cooking may be our strong suit, all chef’s need to enjoy their own creations and appreciate their peers every once in awhile. Rightly so, we plop spoonfuls of meat onto our tortillas, and top them off with salsa, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. and head to the couch. As she characteristically does, Justine puts the television on low volume for background noise. After a long day of sitting in the sun for 8 hours, nothing feels better than sitting down and talking a loved one. I savagely start digging into my meal, meanwhile Justine is much more delicate in her eating. After chowing down a couple of bites, Justine turns to me with a sarcastic grin and says “Do you like it?”. I go “Of course I do! Tacos are the best!” She smiles. However unexpectedly, she looks at me and says,
I love the process of cooking, but I also love just as much how this dish can bring family together. Maybe we differ, we customize our toppings, but at the end of the day we eat the same thing, together, it is a great representation of while we are all different, we can come together as a group and share common ground.
“I think for a second and say, “You know I think you hit it right on the head.”

“I think that you like this because we have always made this together. It’s great to make because while it requires little effort, it leaves a lot of time to have fun along the way.”
Scene 4: Now
Since going away to college, it is exactly this feeling of unison that I miss the most. The simple summer days, the anticipation of 6:00. Every Tuesday that goes serves to remind me of these happier times. I can picture Justine standing at the counter carefully slicing the tomato, smell the meat as it sizzles, laugh at our conversations, but I cannot touch any of it. I know now only the dank scent of the dorm, masked by bad cologne, the sound of my alarm and muffled conversation coming from the hallway, the plainness of the walls that entrap me. The bland Decary food represents the absence of not only taste, but the absence of loved ones. Even if the food was good, it would be lacking the key ingredients to me. As I walk slowly back from the library tonight, and stare southward, I shed a tear, forever missing all that I hold dear. While the path is dark, the few scattered stars provide my light, my hope. Reaching Avila hall, I run up the stairs and into my room. I kiss my few framed memories goodnight and close my eyes.