When Food Is the Map That Leads Me Home, and I Don’t Want to Cook

Have you ever had a Greek woman cook for you? Heaven can be found in a ripe tomato in the right hands. Sitting at a worn and faded kitchen table with a cool breeze blowing through, pushing the fresh herbs slowly across the counter, she had me roughly chop onions while our hands talked more than our mouths. Breaking off a small leaf, she waved the mint in front of my face to…