May 3, 2364

I'm starting to wonder how I had survived on this ship before I gave Travis his knife. The sorts of rations and replicated meals that one lives off of on a ship like this when you don't have a cook in the group is pretty scary. Since Travis started cooking regularly, I have been wondering why my taste buds hadn't attempted to murder me for the crap I'd been subjecting them to until this point.

I'd like to think I have some degree of good taste, even if I don't have the skills to make the good stuff myself. However, the difference freshly prepared food makes to almost anything else, it is almost like comparing the dark of the vacuum and the brightness of a star. Except for with my Aunt Ba'el's gagh, I had never really experienced this dichotomy before. I know Travis knows how much I'm enjoying this, as when I catch him watching me eat, he's got this shit eater grin plastered across his face. Even when he watches Blue, the same thing.

I think I need to get Travis in the kitchen with Aunt Ba'el. I don't know that anyone in the family is going to have the aptitude to learn her recipe, but I think Travis could do it.