I spent the first 33 years of my life terrified of the kitchen. It had fire, and weapons. Medieval looking torture devices that I was certain would take my hand the moment I let down my guard. Most of the time I would get in and out of the room of doom as quickly as possible. Toast, cereal, sandwiches, microwave meals these were the only meals that were "safe".
My lack of culinary skills became infamous. The children would cheer when dad couldn't make dinner because they knew that meant pizza. I was the butt of jokes for months after I admitted I did not know what a whisk was. Why would I? I wasn't going to use one. I doubted anyone would ever be knee deep in McGyvering a contraption to save me from certain doom and said device couldn't be finish because I couldn't bring them a whisk. I know the difference between screw drivers, that should be enough.
Thankfully my husband loved to cook. He had learned how to wield the power of the kitchen to create amazing meals for our family to feast upon. His Italian grandmother had taught her young apprentice well and his culinary sorcery sustained us through 14 years of marriage. I was content to be the bill payer, laundry doer, and grocery shopper. He could have the room of doom and all the contraptions within. I would glaze over when he would begin reciting the litany of kitchen items he needed to ensure he had continued success as his powers grew. (probably should have listened, would have learned what a whisk was sooner) I had no interest nor desire to expand my existence.
As time marched on, my brain began to question my long standing fear of the kitchen. There were still plenty of things to fear in there but logic dictated I think of the bigger picture.
What if my husband found a 21 year old gourmet chef who offered to cook for him in the buff for the next 20 years without feeding me too?
What if my husband was hit by a car and never could use his hands again?
What if the end of world came tomorrow and there were no more cereal boxes or microwaves?
What would I do?
Mama K-Luv is a survivor! I would not be made victim to these wild imaginings in my head. I would not stand for being left permanently without a food source. The wisdom of age had granted me the power to see the future and I would not go down like that!
So I took action. I learned to bake cupcakes. Those are easy right? Maybe not so much. Usually I couldn't even make coffee without some horrid tragedy involving water, coffee grounds and gnomes (don't ask its really hard to explain). So my first ventures into the kitchen ended in burnt crispy tragedies that my dearest husband Esteban and the rats that we call children would choke down as they desperately tried not to permanently damage their esophagus. I have been known to throw away a whole bowl of batter or dough because it wasn't coming out the way I wanted it to. ( Much to Esteban's dismay as he really did like the Ricotta Cheese cookies and wasn't just saying he liked them to be nice) I kept trying though.
Two years later.. I am still learning but have found I love cooking. I am a witch in the kitchen bringing together strange and foreign substances that magically create wonderful things to eat. I wish I could cook my emotions into my food, like that movie Like Water for Chocolate. Here's a plate of Chocolate Chip Your a Jerks. Hope that goes down well. Crazy smile goes here. Anyway, that would be a really sweet skill, but I will settle for edible.
I made this my first blog post so you would understand my obsession with posting pictures of food I make. I take pictures of everything I cook because I am still amazed I made it! So enjoy the picture of the amazing scones I made today..and be inspired to go and whip up your own magic in whatever area of life you never dared venture.
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