Everybody in my family can cook. My mom’s cooking is like a five star gourmet restaurant at your service, but also an all-you-can-eat buffet. And me, my cooking is exciting. It grills chicken and steaks at scorching heat, but never burns, always crispy on the outside, but juicy on the inside. My sister’s cooking is basic. She doesn't need to impress. Mac and Cheese, Mac and Cheese, Mac and Cheese, that’s all she needs. Dad’s cooking is like a smokehouse, because every time he cooks, the smoke alarm goes off. My dad burns everything he cooks, even frozen pepperoni pizza…frozen pepperoni pizza.

       But my mother’s cooking is always the best. Her fried chicken leaves a good aftertaste that my tastebuds ask for more. The smell in the morning leaves my mouthwatering for crispy bacon and pan-fried eggs. Not only am I  greeted with a kiss when I  enter the kitchen, but also a warm hug--a warm hug that feels as if I am back in bed. The kitchen is not only a place where food is made, but also a place where love is exchanged. Love that is not only expressed through the meals and the time they took to make, but also through enjoying the meals together.