A Mother's Cooking

I love the smell of my mother's cooking. Not just because she's a great cook, because she is. She single-handedly caters to parties all around the city, and even in surrounding cities. It's not just food from her own Filipino culture either; she can make really great German food, too. When she cooks, my mouth always waters.

But more than taste comes to mind when the lovely aroma from the kitchen reaches my bedroom. Inside, I feel loved. It's probably because my mom only cooks when she's in a good mood; when she's angry, she heats up canned sardines for herself and lets everyone else worry about their survival. It's when I smell exotic spices mixed with the distinct smell of meat that she is happiest, and likewise it is my favorite.

The smell of food cooking from the kitchen is always used as an allusion of a mother's love in writing. I completely understand, too, even if the usage is so common, it's nearly cliche. But sometimes, my mother is cooking, and unimaginable grief overcomes me, because one day, I know the smell of her cooking will disappear forever.