An old joke that I used to use to describe myself: "I spend time knitting scarves I never finish, writing short stories I'll never publish, and looking through cookbooks, but always ordering a pizza, instead."
Well, I've given up knitting*, but I've graduated to cooking – and cooking a lot. Sometimes I cook strictly following recipes from cookbooks, and sometimes I cook new recipes simply inspired by the instructions. Sometimes I cook with inspiration and skill, using ideas and techniques (seemingly) all my own, and the end product is a beautiful representation of all the excitement and energy put into it – and sometimes, after all of that, we still need to order a pizza. But that's okay. I love learning, and I love pizza.
About four months ago, my boyfriend and I moved from
The next step, then, is to chronicle the cooking – mainly, I admit, to practice the writing. I have been, I suppose, like many others: with a skill and love for the written language, equaled only by the strong and ugly forces of arrogance and laziness. It’s only after receiving a few rejection letters for the few short stories recently sent out that I realize that I really, really need to practice writing. It’s not so much enforcing a chore so much as establishing a routine, a sunny structure to my already sunny days. And what better way to begin than amidst the smell of pumpkin bread baking in the oven?**
Not only am I learning just how to do what I love, but what it is I love to do the most. Most nights, Bennett (the boyfriend mentioned in the previously previous paragraph, and alluded to in the paragraph before that) and I will make dinner, have a digestif, and settle down to watch a movie we'd rented earlier, passing a plate of fruit back and forth between the two of us. It's a sweet life, and I'd like to share it.
**More on that doughy treat later.