Once the afternoon arrived, I took that as an early hint that my house was going to start warming up, from the action taking place in the kitchen. I knew instantly that the air would be filled with an aroma that only my mom knew exactly. After the curiosity reached its peek, whatever was in the oven or on the stove would start to take its form. No matter what was being cooked fried pork with basil leaves, chili with hot peppers, or catfish my mother would watch over the kitchen like she was the Need special care. Meat preparation would always seem to take a long while. I can remember sometimes the smell of chicken being fried stuck on your clothes. Or the smell green curry chicken in coconut milk down the block just to make its way up my nose. I would ask my friends do you smell that and they would reply strongly, “No,” like I was having dreams or been in the sun too long.