I cooked today, and used black pepper properly; not the polite dusting at the end. It smelled warm and woody and slightly sharp, the way black pepper does when it hasn’t been sitting open too long. There’s something grounding about that smell. Familiar. Almost serious. So serious that it made me sneeze, as it always does.

Black pepper doesn’t ask to be liked. It doesn’t try to sweeten anything. It just shows up and does its job. Too little and you miss it. Too much and it reminds you very quickly that it exists. And that made me think about how many things in life are like that not dramatic enough to talk about, not soft enough to romanticise. They don’t announce meaning, but later you realise they held everything together; they might make you ‘sneeze’ a little but they’re useful; a habit, a conversation, a quiet decision you made…

I like spices like that. Spices just make sense. Black pepper makes a lot of sense, and I hope your week does too.

Yours lovingly,

Njoks.