Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Sunday, Mar. 14, 2004 - 8:23 p.m.

Notes From the Kitchen

Do not store wine in the trunk of your car. The weather will inevitably turn unseasonably hot, and you will have forgotten said wine is in there. When you remember, on the 5th or 6th day of the heat wave, the wine will not be so tasty as it probably was when you put it in there.

Do not cut or chop things which are difficult to cut or chop when you have been drinking pre-dinner wine. For that matter, it's probably prudent not to be cutting or chopping anything when you have been drinking pre-dinner wine.

I wish I had a gigantic, tiled kitchen, like those kitchens you see in movies. The fabulous kind, with big wooden block cutting islands and pans hanging from convenient places in the ceiling, along with big things of garlic and peppers and herb wreaths all over the place. These kitchens are always white and shining, and fully stocked with every single thing a budding or seasoned chef could ever want. They have gorgeous white ceramic tile walls and/or splashguards, with some sort of well-designed french or italian kitchen motif - grapes or olives or pasta or pigs with little mustaches wearing chef's smocks - and whomever cooks in them always makes the best, most fabulous dinners with effortless ease.

I do not have one of those kitchens.

I have a very small kitchen with very little counter space, not enough cabinetry, and no island to speak of, except the little rolling wooden one TB bought me, which is currently shoved up against the counter near the microwave in order to provide more counter space. ::sigh:: Someday I want to have a great big house with a great big honkin' kitchen and more cooking equipment and utensils than you could ever hope to see in one non-commercial place. I want every kitchen accessory there is, even stuff I will never use in a million years, because you never know; one day you may want to mill something or make crepes suzette, and if you do not have a mill or crepe pan, where will you be then, huh? How can one possibly frappe without the correct frappe device? I have been asking my mom for one of those totally cool and awesome, gigantic heavy Kitchenaid mixers for forever now, and if one can not count on one's mother to overspend on an industrial-grade mixer for one's own tiny kitchen, who can one count on?

All this was running thru my head on the way home from the grocery store tonight, because I am making my specical goat cheese pizza that you wish so much you had the recipe for, and while I was waiting in line at the store, me and the lady behind me where poring over our respective gourmet cooking magazines - the meals for which are always prepared in fantastic kitchens like the one described above - and sharing different fabulous photos with each other, so of course on the drive home, I'm thinking how great it would be to whip up one of those incredible meals in an incredible gourmet kitchen in my incredible house by the sea - I neglected to mention all such kitchens are almost always located right next to the sea - with french music playing in the background while I drank wine out of a fabulous wine glass and was wearing spotless white - which I looked fabulous in and which NEVER got anything spattered on it - effortlessly whipping up an amazingly delicious meal which The Boyfriend and I would enjoy whilst sharing witty and urbane dinner conversation in our graceful, yet minimally furnished, dining room with candlelight and all the french doors open to the balmy ocean breeze, instead of at our little wood table which folds down and out of the way so that it can be an occasional table OR an actual dinner table because the living room and kitchen sort of bleed into each other, and the space there isn't conducive to an actual dining table. Or, you know, sitting on the couch with our feet on the coffee table, watching television and not really saying a whole lot of anything to each other.

My life is always so much more enchanting and wonderful in my head than it seems to come out in the real world.

But you know, I am still having my glass of wine and listening to french music while I write this, and now that I am pretty fairly buzzed and it's almost 9:00, I'm going to go into my tiny kitchen and tempt fate by cutting nice, slippery things like oven-roated tomatoes and olives, and make my incredible goat cheese pizza, because no matter what else might be in my life, that pizza is effortlessly gourmet and fantastic, and that, when you get right down to it, is all that really matters.

Peace out,
Katie

1 comments so far

My idea of a perfect date would be a man who takes me to a romantic dinner,
and then we walk along the beach barefoot discussing books and--and music and--and movies.

*HUGS* TOTAL! give katiedoyle more *HUGS*
Get hugs of your own

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