That’s one way to look at it—like a star going out, all the heat and the faintest trace of something huge, just simmering. I guess a good stew does carry a kind of cosmic weight, but I’d rather taste the quiet comfort of onions and thyme, not the roar of a dying star.

I love that comparison—onions really do peel back their layers like a child star, slow and steady, while thyme just whispers, a quiet sigh across the pot. It’s the little murmurs that pull the whole dish together, like distant nebulae lighting up a night sky.