It is hard not to feel the jitters when I think back to my earliest memories in my grandma’s kitchen. I tend to stare at the computer screen and try my best to describe the sheer nostalgia and joy I feel whenever I picture the mountainous stacks of steamed lobsters, silky noodles, and endless food. I put my fingers on the keyboard but I do not think I can ever give my grandma’s cooking the justice it deserves. Maybe if I have the mind of a prestigious chef and the words of the greatest author, then maybe, just maybe my description will be perfect…

My heart raced as my uncle chased me around the house for no apparent reason. I remembered messing around with some shiny objects in his room, but it never seemed to be valuable to me, so I assumed that it would not be too valuable to him. He caught me and tickled me into submission. Before I could apologize, I stuck my nose out to an incredible scent that overwhelmed my body greater than the tickling sensation. I stopped laughing and escaped my uncle’s grasp.

I followed the smell into the kitchen and found to my delight my grandma battling a gigantic flame. She slapped the flame with what appeared to be a shield in the shape of a bowl and two wooden sticks. The flame raged on and the fiery volcano erupted with vegetables and meats of every kind. She punished the foodstuffs with all kinds of liquids from clear liquids to jet black liquids. The fire unleashed an explosion of smoke and steam that rendered the air with a distinguishable heat and odor. After battling with the flame for a quick period of a few minutes, my grandma defeated the flame and unloaded her spoils of victory onto a plate. The plate of spoils shone brightly under the rays of the sun and emanated a strong aroma and smell that could be felt from a distance.

My eyes were transfixed until I saw my grandma approaching the wooden board with what looked like a small sword. She carried an expression of absolute calm, like the kung-fu fighters from my uncle’s movies. Just barely able to peer at the wooden board from the counter, I caught a glimpse of an orange stick, a green stick, and a plethora of other colorful vegetables lying innocently on the wooden board. With determined concentration and focus, my grandma placed her blade on the orange stick, and like an expert samurai, swiftly reduced it into many tiny morsels. My jaw dropped with amazement as she placed all the tiny orange morsels into a giant pot and disappeared with the pot in a matter of seconds.

I tried to follow my grandma but I quickly averted my attention to the living room when my grandpa called out my name, “Calvin!” I rustled over to my grandpa, who sat patiently at the dinner table watching the Chinese news, and jumped onto his laps He lifted me up and pointed out all the dishes on the table, “This is Roasted Duck. This is Red Bean soup. This is Fried Tiger Prawns…” I had no idea what any of these dishes were but my eyes were filled with awe at the spectacle. Before my eyes could continue to feast on the mouthwatering dishes, everyone arrived at the table and prepared to eat.

“Ye Ye (Grandpa), Ma Ma (Grandma), Ma Mi (Mom), Ba Ba (Dad), Soke Soke (Uncle), Goo Goo (Aunt), Goh Goh (Brother), and Je Je (Sister), eat dinner!” I yelled happily.

I watched impatiently as everyone skillfully grabbed the food with their wooden sticks. They dabbed their food in a myriad of red, yellow, and black liquids. I felt so distant from the food until my grandma lifted her bowl of rice and fed me a small portion of all the dishes. My mouth screamed with joy and I could not help but cry for more. My grandma laughed as I cried for more food; she was more than willing to deal with my rambunctious yelling, especially since she knew it was my way of showing appreciation for her food. I ate until my belly could not handle another morsel.

When dinner was finished and the table was cleared, I sat on my grandma’s lap as she sang my favorite melody, “My sweeettttt boyyyy, ohhhh oyyyy…” Under the soothing melody and grandma’s comfort, I whispered to my grandma, “I love you, Ma Ma.” I gradually fell asleep with the thought of my grandma’s next home-cooked meal…

I take my hands off the keyboard and grab the picture album from underneath my desk. My eyes peer steadily from picture to picture. Turning from page to page, I find a picture of my grandma feeding me. I giggle slightly and look back to the computer screen. Maybe, in a sense, I have been trying too hard to create a description for something that cannot be described. Maybe the perfect description lies in the very fact that it cannot be described. Grandma’s cooking…grandma’s kitchen…simply amazing.