COOKING is like music to me. Rhythm section is the basic/fundamentals, the improvisation comes with the guitars and sax and horns and stuff. It's always hit and miss. Right key, right blend.
I WOULD love to own a house with an outdoor kitchen, wood stove, and stuff. Of course, it's not that easy in an urban setting with neighboring condominiums and apartments. Lots of issues... Nevertheless, I enjoy watching the fire, the raw smell of burning wood, embers fluttering by, burnt clay pots, veggies off the farm still smothered with muddy soil, fish set to be gutted and all, herbs all over the yard—the breeze or rain and birds chiming along as the dog and cat saunter by.
BACK home in the islands, or long time ago in America, we don't have an apt word for organic since most food are "organic." Meaning, straight from the farm, local, non-pesticide, non-stocked (in shelves) hence no chemical agents to give it longer shelf-life, non-packaged/ready to go as is, non-transported from other sources--and sold right in the open market by people who live in the same community. So when people say “organic” and then they head to a “healthy food” franchise grocery, and negate the local/community grower, I tend to rant. But I digress.
MANY days my life's pursuit of happiness is simply focused on hoping my home team, the Charlotte Hornets win a game. Or I don't argue over some silly, redundant item. Happiness is a sweet two hours goof-around with a child, a cool walk with a babedawg by the river's side—or I get to eat a really fresh and delicious seafood dinner.