Cooking phở on a hot day.
I have all the windows open. Birds are chirping in a collective harmony, singing songs of summer love. It is 83F degrees outside but cool breezes make the thick green leaves rustling atop the trees in the back yard and sending draft through the screened windows into my kitchen. Refreshing.
And the aromatic phở spices — cinnamon, cloves, star anise — wafting up a similar sense of comfort around the house. It will take another five hours or so for the phở broth to reach its peak. For now I let it simmer. Our dinner will be awesome.
The kids are with O on errands. I am left at home, all by myself.
Can I have more days like this and not being too greedy?