I saw you... coming up the stairs with gourmet, lovingly prepared food for yourself and a friend (I guess). I wanted to ask for a plate but something stopped me. I know you saw me staring longingly at the ephemeral steam, wafting up from covered pots and pans, concealing hidden delights given away only by the beautiful smells emanating from the disguised wonder of your culinary creation. Perhaps you could offer to share next time?