I won't lie I am like most people I sit in a chair, look out of a window and I daydream. I know its a silly past time best left to children, but its a guilty pleasure of mine. Most often I dream about seeing my name on the New York Times Best Seller list, but a couple of times a week I am walking through my dream house. Oh what a dream house it is. Marble floors, expansive rooms with soaring ceiling, and the kitchen. My God the kitchen. My two prep islands. One for cooking one for baking. My walk in freezer, glass refrigerator and a pantry big enough to feed a small country during a zombie apocalypse.Then I blink and I am back to reality. Back to my small kitchen that can barely hold me, my mom and a case of water. A kitchen than is for all intent and purposes older than I am. Not that I am ancient, but there have been some serious advancements in kitchens since Milly and Vanilly were the best thing going in music. Yes I was being sarcastic about that last sentence.
I hate my kitchen. I hate the the burners that tilt up at old angles causing me to have to rock the pans back and forth to cook things evenly and keep them from burning. I hate the oven that only has two places for the racks. Right under the flame or right above it. I hate that I literally have only four feet of counter space, and the counters absorb anything and every substance placed on them. So the once off white countertops are speckled with enough blood like substances that Dexter Morgan would be set for life.But this is not a rant about how I hate my kitchen. This is a salute to the aforementioned kitchen. Had it not been for this kitchen I would not have made my first thanksgiving meal. Which would not have given my confidence to attempt another Thanksgiving meal while I studied abroad in Manchester, England. I was able to share roast turkey with international kids who had never eaten it before. I got to explain what cornbread was and why it is cock of the walk in the south.
In my kitchen I got my try my hand at chocolate souffles. They fell, but boy they were tasty and my mom and sister sure as hell didn't complain. In my kitchen I've gotten the chance to prefect my meat marinades. To the point where my family have gotten into shouting matches over the last beef kaboo on the platter. In my kitchen I've kept my dreams of owning a cupcakery, food truck and now a food blog alive.So while my kitchen may really suck. My kitchen would have to get a microwave that wasn't invented by DaVinci to rise up the level of suckage. Its the small package good things are made of.
