The Taste of Home in a Bowl

When I moved to a new city for work, I thought I would miss my friends most.

Instead, it was the smell of my mother's cooking that kept coming back to me.

One rainy evening, I walked past a small noodle shop and stopped.

The soup had ginger and spring onion, just like the one she made on cold days.

I sat down and ordered a bowl, though I was not really hungry.

The first spoonful was hot and salty, and suddenly I could see our old kitchen clearly.

My mother was standing by the stove, tasting the soup and adding a little more salt.

I finished the whole bowl slowly, feeling both happy and sad.

After that, I started cooking simple dishes at home, following her recipes over the phone.

Cooking the food I grew up with helps me feel less alone in this big, strange city.

Now I also use a cooking app on my phone to find new recipes.

Last month, I made tomato and egg soup for three friends from work.

They said it tasted like home, and we laughed a lot at my small kitchen table.

Next year, I plan to visit my mother and cook for her for a change.