Music melting pot
Quite simply, when I take time to cook something I need a little more time to do, I need music. I cannot cook in silence. Even the background noise of the TV is not sufficient.
Music to suit the mood. After the usual hard Monday back to the slog after a weekend on the beach, my chopping of courgettes and peppers matches the need to wind down and step back to little more than 24 hours previous. An hour a go I was very much in a lounge mood, very much focused on dinner and intimate company. Music match.
And as I chop and chill, my shoulders ever so slightly rotate and roll to the easy beats. As I pour oil in the pan the music beachifies me. The sprawling sands of Tarifa are laid out before me. The Atlantic Ocean takes over the relay baton from the Mediterranean and rolls out to the horizon finish line.
As Moby kicks in the wind whispers it's silky vocals. The waves are synths that come and go and set the scene and the feel to the track. They break or crash at the shore like the high-hat at the end of every 4-bar, as I toss the vegetables in the pan.
My mind is carried away on the currents, stirring the pan it moves over the lull of the ocean and gets carried in to the under currents. The oil works its way in and around the ingredients. The wooden spoon is a drumstick as I pat out the beat between stirs, making dinner, making music. I add pepper and it drops gently on to the chicken and vegetables, floating on them like a boat on water. Then they scuba dive in to the midst of the sea as my wooden drumstick returns to the music melting pot.
No longer am in the kitchen. I am where I was yesterday, with my mermaid. I am with surfers as they carve their boards in to the breaks. Sailors manouvre their boats like a producer infront of panels of knobs and slides in a studio. Surfers and sailors become musicians in a sea of music. I want to bring my contribution, I want to play my musical kitchen untensils. I want to be a kid again and play the pans, I want to make a samba beat. I want to funk to a chunky bassline. But then I stir again and I synth. I sip my wine and I feel the waves lap the shore once more.
As the sun lowers and the chiringuito DJ takes us in to the evening, a beer takes us to sunset and the night where dinner and music thrive, where they go together. The sun sets on the sea like a bright orange floating beach ball. I feel myself hanging on to the last few bars of the song like I am hanging on to the last weeks of summer. I want to rewind, I want to replay. I don't want to let go. But my stomach won't wait, dinner is served.