And so I live this in-between life—born of the tropics, residing in the temperate, always negotiating with the air around me. The shawl, draped over my shoulders, has become more than just a shield against the cold. It is my compromise, my quiet companion, my badge of adaptation. It tells the story of a body that remembers where it came from, even when life has taken it elsewhere.

Like the dessert itself, our friendship was never meant to be admired from afar like a perfect tower in a glass. It had to be stirred, mixed, and sometimes shaken by the years—marriages, careers, triumphs, disappointments, and the long distances life imposed on us. Yet once blended again, the sweetness returns as if no time had passed at all.

I’ve discovered the secret to entertaining at home—without the stress and spectacle of party-throwing. I do my cooking in batches, usually during those rare weeks when my office workload is lighter and I’m in the mood for domestic pursuits. In one dedicated shopping day, I buy everything I need to cook seven to eleven dishes, my favorites, enough to sustain me for three weeks, sometimes even a month.

That is, until friends come calling.