Cooking nights.

Here I rest in bed with my mind in other universes. Food universes. Different flavor dimensions. Every night is the same. My head hits the pillow, and like a water dam that has been released, ideas rush out. Thought start to simmer.

I think about the bread I baked this morning, and the ones I'll bake for the next market. The sushi I'm craving. And the tastes of the past. The cooking classes I'm planning. The writings I wanna write.

"I close my eyes in order to see", said once the flamboyant and colorful Paul Gauguin. Quite frankly, I don't know how he did that. I've tried. I've really tried. But when I'm surrendering into Morpheus arms, my colors wont let me go. My artistic cook, comes out.

Is it the many night in the kitchen? Has my system been accustomed to work at night? To maintain the flames of my internal stove burning until they can no more? Until every ounce of energy has cooked to a perfect point? Until the sauces of my body are reduced?

Or is it the visions? The, I wanna cook this, or I wanna eat that? Is it the desire to stand up and cook?

Or is it just me? Creating menus in my head. Imagining faces full of pleasure as they eat my food. Visualizing smiles of flavor. Eyes of sweet sensations. Thinking of nice dinners and tasty breakfasts.

I guess there is only one way to know. I'll close my eyes and try to see.

#itsfoodoclock