The kitchen asks for the whole possible attention, but it compensates with boundless pleasures of the senses.
The rustle of the water that flows through the leaves of lettuce, the dry hit of the knife that cuts the piglet, the fresh perfume in summer that spreads the fruit when it is peeled, the resistance of the sauce against the spoon when it grows thick in the saucepan and the marvelous lightness of the parmesan cheese that goes out of the grater and accumulates in soft hillocks.
In the kitchen the time goes slowly and offers an universe of small satisfactions.