The Kitchen

We are food people.  It's at the heart of everything  we do.  I like it when Uriah makes dinner for me, I feel special and a bit decadent sitting back and watching the show as it unfolds before me in our kitchen.  I remember the first meal he ever made for me; I remember holding hands as we walked through the grocery store - a bit self-conscious because I was never part of one of those couples that held hands in public and yet, it seemed to come so easily to Uriah, squeezing my fingers as he thought out loud all of the things that he could make for me and then systematically vetoing his own ideas.  And then, as if he had a moment of inspiration, he  decided what it was he was going to make and suddenly we were racing through the aisles as he grabbed what he needed, me tagging behind and breathlessly telling him the items I already had at home as he pulled things off of shelves and from inside freezers.  That first meal, the flutter of activity in my kitchen and my heart - a man cooking just for me - is one of my favorite memories.  It was the beginning.  

All of our important conversations seem to take place in the kitchen.  Debating whether or not we could fit four people in our already-too-small apartment, our subsequent decision to move out of the apartment in Kansas City - bittersweet because it was our first home together - before Finn was born.  Conversations that took place in the smallest kitchen ever, me leaning against the Pates Baroni print and pushing it off center with my shoulder, Uriah leaning against against the stove, his feet nearly touching the cabinets across from him; no more than a foot between us as we stared at each other, both giddy and nervous that in the span of 4 months we'd gotten married, gotten pregnant and were suddenly about to move.  The decision not to move to Duluth took place in the kitchen over a period of dark winter evenings with our somber images mirrored back at us in the blackness of the window over the kitchen sink.  Back and forth went the conversation; back and forth went my resolve; back and forth went my nerves.  In the end, it wasn't right the right fit or the right time and we ended the conversation in the same place it began: the kitchen.  And yes, even the decision to move to Iowa took place in the kitchen - debating the merits, the final phone call, accepting the offer - all took place with Finn rolling around on the floor between us, Uriah back and forth between the conversation inside and the grill outside and me back and forth between being completely calm with the idea that I would be, basically, a single parent packing up our house for the following six weeks and then completely freaking out because...I was going to be a single parent for six weeks while packing up our house.  Somewhere there is a picture that my sister took of me on our last day in Kansas City, standing in our empty kitchen, in the house where I brought my son home from the hospital, cupboard doors open and the smell of Pinesol so heavy in the air, I feel it must have seeped into the picture and curled the edges.

My escape has always been the kitchen.  I can loose myself in a recipe, in the exact science of baking and the leeway I'm allowed with cooking.  I can stand at the counter for hours, reading recipes and making our weekly menus come alive with papers torn from magazines and post-it notes tuck inside cookbooks documenting changes that I've made or ingredients that I've added.  I feel good and right with the world when I'm feeding my family - three times a day, I have the opportunity to fill their bellies and feed their souls.  

This week, I want to share with you some of my kitchen, some of the recipes that we've grown to love here and a few of the new ones that are going to become old favorites.  So, I invite you to check back throughout the week for some new ideas to add to your kitchen; some new love to share with your families.

We are food people.  It's at the heart of everything  we do.  I like it when Uriah makes dinner for me, I feel special and a bit decadent sitting back and watching the show as it unfolds before me in our kitchen.  I remember the first meal he ever made for me; I remember holding hands as we walked through the grocery store - a bit self-conscious because I was never part of one of those couples that held hands in public and yet, it seemed to come so easily to Uriah, squeezing my fingers as he thought out loud all of the things that he could make for me and then systematically vetoing his own ideas.  And then, as if he had a moment of inspiration, he  decided what it was he was going to make and suddenly we were racing through the aisles as he grabbed what he needed, me tagging behind and breathlessly telling him the items I already had at home as he pulled things off of shelves and from inside freezers.  That first meal, the flutter of activity in my kitchen and my heart - a man cooking just for me - is one of my favorite memories.  It was the beginning.  

All of our important conversations seem to take place in the kitchen.  Debating whether or not we could fit four people in our already-too-small apartment, our subsequent decision to move out of the apartment in Kansas City - bittersweet because it was our first home together - before Finn was born.  Conversations that took place in the smallest kitchen ever, me leaning against the Pates Baroni print and pushing it off center with my shoulder, Uriah leaning against against the stove, his feet nearly touching the cabinets across from him; no more than a foot between us as we stared at each other, both giddy and nervous that in the span of 4 months we'd gotten married, gotten pregnant and were suddenly about to move.  The decision not to move to Duluth took place in the kitchen over a period of dark winter evenings with our somber images mirrored back at us in the blackness of the window over the kitchen sink.  Back and forth went the conversation; back and forth went my resolve; back and forth went my nerves.  In the end, it wasn't right the right fit or the right time and we ended the conversation in the same place it began: the kitchen.  And yes, even the decision to move to Iowa took place in the kitchen - debating the merits, the final phone call, accepting the offer - all took place with Finn rolling around on the floor between us, Uriah back and forth between the conversation inside and the grill outside and me back and forth between being completely calm with the idea that I would be, basically, a single parent packing up our house for the following six weeks and then completely freaking out because...I was going to be a single parent for six weeks while packing up our house.  Somewhere there is a picture that my sister took of me on our last day in Kansas City, standing in our empty kitchen, in the house where I brought my son home from the hospital, cupboard doors open and the smell of Pinesol so heavy in the air, I feel it must have seeped into the picture and curled the edges.

My escape has always been the kitchen.  I can loose myself in a recipe, in the exact science of baking and the leeway I'm allowed with cooking.  I can stand at the counter for hours, reading recipes and making our weekly menus come alive with papers torn from magazines and post-it notes tuck inside cookbooks documenting changes that I've made or ingredients that I've added.  I feel good and right with the world when I'm feeding my family - three times a day, I have the opportunity to fill their bellies and feed their souls.  

This week, I want to share with you some of my kitchen, some of the recipes that we've grown to love here and a few of the new ones that are going to become old favorites.  So, I invite you to check back throughout the week for some new ideas to add to your kitchen; some new love to share with your families.