Brave New Kitchen

Last week, I looked at my first kitchen for the last time.  Our little rented apartment was as "first" as you could get: a one-bedroom defined by less than 450 sq. feet, a significant mildew problem, water main breaks you could count on at least once a month, and, of course, the eccentric neighbors that were less eccentric ala the strangely habited hermits we've all lived by, but more along the lines of stabby, misanthropic maniacs.  But, even after cooking professionally for most of my short adult life, this small kitchen was the first kitchen that was MINE.  No matter that it had one counter-top, a two-burner stove, an oven that refused to be closer than fifty degrees to your desired temperature, and a fridge that I could easily lean on, even at my short stature. It was where I started teaching others how to cook, where I developed recipes for my professional courses, and the place I truly learned how to improvise (something I had never had any instincts to do).  

All that said and done, when I closed the door for the final time, I was happy.  Nostalgia can only hide the horrors of a place for so long.  When we finally arrived to our new home that evening, and unpacked the car for the final time, I surveyed my brave new kitchen with appreciation.  Never had a full size stove been so appealing, even if it was covered in kitchen gadgets and stacked pans still in need of a permanent home.  The sight of a dishwasher almost made me, and my reluctant dishwasher but enthusiastic "guinea pig" boyfriend, cry.  Not one, but FOUR counter-tops hidden under boxes were simply dazzling to behold.   

While the first place may have been mine, simply looking at it made me depressed.  I tried to cook at least once a week, but even then, microwaved food and take-out became more appealing than breaking out a pan.  Even one meal's worth of dishes made the place nearly impossible to navigate. Cooking has long been my active release from the heaviness of the world.  When I was no longer afforded that luxury, my heart and mind suffered.  Simply put, I was tired. I was lost. 

However, during this same time, I began to teach at a local culinary boutique.  It energized me.  It reminded me why I fell in love with cooking to begin with.  Combined with my other great love, teaching, it was a vacation every couple of weeks to prep with my boyfriend's help and to serve a roomful of eager faces.  When the boutique closed down unexpectedly within a day of us moving to our new place, I took it as a sign that I should finally do what I've been asked and pleaded with to do for a long time- start a cooking blog. 

If you're here in March 2014, you've probably received a special invitation from me because you were one of my students or a friend that has encouraged me along the way.  To you, I have to say thank you.  All of you, in one way or another, have made me at least think I'm capable of running a blog.  If you're here later, welcome; you're joining the ranks of some pretty awesome people! 

Enough with the backstory.  Whaddya say we go make something yummy?