I did think of it as “my” kitchen: It had been one of the reasons we’d chosen to buy our home 12 years ago. The previous owners had remodeled it three years prior, moving the old kitchen cabinets (and even a working sink) out into the garage for storage.
It had been a significant upgrade. The kitchen, in fitting with the decor of the rest of the house, was neutrally colored. Cream cabinets, sandy brown speckled granite countertops, and a travertine tile backsplash with a few subtle accents. …
In Nilesh Patel’s documentary film, A Love Supreme, his mother’s fingers dance with the elegance of a silver screen star. Her hands cradle an onion, her nails tracing the edges of its papery skin and disrobing it in one deft movement. We see a flash of henna-stained palms as delicate fingers pop peas from their pods or juice a plump lemon. Fingers fix into a claw shape to whisk flour with water; later, they cup softly around samosa skins as they are filled. With the rhythms of cooking drummed into her muscle memory, every movement is performed by heart.
One taught me planning
One taught me patience
And one taught me…. No, no.
This is starting to sound like an Ariana Grande song of boyfriends past. If I were to remix the track, my chorus would repeat, “Thank you, may I please have more?”
My family recently played a game at dinner in which each member had to disclose their favorite color of produce.
The rules were: If you could only eat one group of produce for the rest of your life, and that group was organized by color, which would you choose?
This is clearly a complete hypothetical…
Like just about everything else right now, the pandemic has changed the way we eat. Restaurants are closed, buying groceries is now followed by a time-consuming and anxiety-riddled cleaning ritual, and even the lowly takeout container must be treated with suspicion and care.
I’ve found that during this time, food preparation has become a way to soothe my nerves, maintain a feeling of control, and continue to show love and care to my family while maintaining our commitment to stay home.
Being a home cook has never just been about cooking. It also includes food purchasing, meal planning, and, now…
Dystopian landscapes have become our new normal. Some are wrenching. Some are retro. Others, brought to me via Instagram, are unsettling to my New England core. That’s right, I’m talking about canned fish in all its oil-soaked glory.
Here in Europe, the parallel to Maine lobster shacks of my youth are the low-key restaurants devoted to good local wines and tiny tinned delights, minus plastic bibs and lemon towelettes. But for this born-and-bred New Hampshire girl, let’s just say my feelings about canned fish are complicated.
Some of my favorite childhood memories involved weekly forays to the fresh seafood market…
Food from every angle: From Medium x Mark Bittman