There are times you wonder if the things you say in the classroom make the kind of sense you want to make— if you spoke clearly, without stumbling, of ideas that filled you with such excitement when you first read or learned them— You know how hard it is to let someone in, how hard to come close to another's experience; know how most times it's skirt and dodge, no eye contact, fine thank you. What use is language then? At home, you stand at the sink and lick the batter off the spatula to taste the sugars before they were cooked, to see if you can find a trail of salt, some indissoluble essence at the heart of things.