Mata's Kitchen

The small window, set high up on the stone wall, allowed a beam of early morning light to shine down upon Mata's salt and pepper head. She flitted like a hummingbird around a collection of enormous steaming pots. Using a stepladder, she tasted this and seasoned that before hopping back down to continue meddling with various mixtures of spices and vegetables.

As the three of us arrived, still sleepy-eyed, we were surprised to see her already toiling away. Also shocking to us was the size of the kitchen in which we were expected to work. Standing barely a hair-width apart, we couldn't fathom how our small group would be able to cook enough food for all of the people that would be attending the community event later that afternoon. Relieved to have extra sets of hands, Mata gently guided us to our stations and pretty soon we were all elbow deep in fragrant herbs and fresh vegetables.

The temperature in the kitchen rose with the sun, and by noon we had placed wet towels on our heads to stave off the heat. We played Spanish music and worked barefoot on the dirt floor as Mata spun tales of what Denmark had been like back in the 70's. People outside crowded near a rundown platform, anticipating the first speaker who would quench their thirst for political activism. Some came in to offer help, as was the custom in this small village nestled in the heart of Copenhagen, but the kitchen was just too small to fit more people.

By the end of the day, we had proudly managed to cook enough food for the 200 people that attended the event. After the final pots had been scrubbed, Mata forced cold beers into our hands and dragged us out of the kitchen and into the warm summer air. We sat on the grass near the stage, achy and exhausted, but in high spirits. Leaning against each other, we laughed and drank until the sun went down, ending our final day in Christiania, Copenhagen.