Holy kitchens

In a Mexican kitchen someone is always patting tortillas, or grinding chilies and garlic in a molcajete. Strings of dried anchoes and serranoes hang from cupboard knobs like desiccated placentas. As a child,  I waited at the table for food and learned what magic smells like; cilantro, cumin, tamarind. Sweat is also an ingredient.

Sara’s bowl was empty, so God filled it. Did she braid her hair, this mother of all Jews, to keep it off her face while she worked? Did her tent get hot as she prepared a banquet for God?

We are all in Genesis, right there between “In the beginning” and “Let Us make man in Our image.” God made us creative like Him. I work for people with Down syndrome; they gaze at their fingers, they hold God.