A kitchen. A table is set, a warm but pungent scent fills the room. JD, 20-something, moves out. He takes a deep, last look at his bedroom while packing his things, before the last step out.
An old recipe, carefully prepared by JD. For his father.
A last meal, prepared for a hard, distant father becomes a ritual for a revelation.
What happens then, when you realize that every gesture, every aspect of what for you is pure pleasure, cooking, are your father's gestures? How this changes the view that a son has of his father, and of himself?
JD will find himself in a mirror, his father's image.
Memories overlap, rice melts, places return to mind. And everything just looks different. Like JD.
Sometimes the boundary between a perfect and a bad recipe is slippery, as between Apathy and Love.