My Happy Place *Sigh*

This is where the majority of my Epicurean Adventures come to fruition: My kitchen may be small and it may not have all the latest gadgets or the finest cookware, but it's all mine. For me, I'm happiest when I can dance over and around the dog sprawled in the middle of my culinary stage while I sing (rather well, thank you very much) along with the music blasting from my iPod. Oddly enough, the food isn't always the star of the show for me... sometimes it's more the making of it that takes center stage.

Take tonight for instance. I've been sitting in my bedroom all afternoon where it's nice and cool due to the AC humming in the window. I'd been reading, as usual, and didn't realize what time it was until I realized that my stomach was trying to claw it's way out of my body in search of food.

(Side note: Historically a stress eater, for some reason my appetite has all but disappeared the last few days... ever since I dove head first into the pool of stupidity without checking the depth of the water. Apparently, all that swimming back to shore has finally worked up an appetite and I was absolutely ravenous by the time I finished the book I was reading. Plus there was that whole hunger headache and the shaking hands thing to contend with... but whatever. I was hungry and realized it was well past my normal dinner time.)

Anyway, as hungry as I was, I really didn't feel like going for the quick fix of nuking some leftovers or pulling one of my emergency (translation: didn't have time to fix anything so I just grabbed something from the freezer) spinach or veggie pockets. The prospect of getting into the kitchen and creating was far more appealing than simply cooking something. Tonight, that meant grabbing my favorite 7 inch Santuko knife out of the block and slicing a sweet potato into matchstick french fries and tossing them with olive oil, coarse sea salt, and rosemary before putting them into a 425 degree oven to roast. (I did end up serving them with some leftover Parmesan crusted roasted broccoli and chicken salad... what can I say, I didn't want just fries for dinner. And stay tuned for that particular recipe another day 'cause it sure is divine!) So after the 17th time I had to step over Seamus, it occurred to me that I really wouldn't have it any other way because, in my opinion, a well equipped kitchen isn't complete without a golden retriever laying on the floor in the middle of everything so as not to miss a single second of the comings and goings between fridge, counter, and stove. Good things happen in kitchens, you see, and why would anyone want to miss out on the potential to reap those tasty benefits?

So for me, even a swelteringly hot kitchen (hello? no central AC!) where I'm constantly stepping over the dog as I cross back and forth dans la cuisine plus petite, is truly one of my happy places.