The lasagna was layered with ricotta and regret.
The salad came with a side of silence.
The pie reminded you of someone who isn’t around anymore.
We pretend meals are just calories and ingredients.
But they’re always more than that.
They’re chapters.
The night you opened a bottle you couldn’t afford.
The lunch where something unspoken finally got said.
The Tuesday dinner where nothing special happened and that was the point.
Recipes aren’t what make a meal memorable.
Emotion does.
You don’t need a perfect menu.
You need a reason to gather.
To sit.
To listen.
To care.
People don’t ask for the dish.
They ask for the memory.
So cook something worth remembering.
Tell them a story.
And serve it warm.