When we moved to a new house, I lost my love for cooking.
I went from a fairly big kitchen to a pretty small kitchen.
My new kitchen had about half the cabinet storage I was used to. Â It was smack dab in the middle of the house, kind of a pass-through for those who didn’t want to take the hallway surrounding the space. And really, who would take a dark hallway going to who-knows-where when the heart of the home, the bright, warm, vibrant kitchen, is two steps in front of you.
I totally get it.
However, that kitchen is really small when more than three people fill it. Â Really.
And the kitchen I left behind felt CAVERNOUS in retrospect.
So my new-to-me, smallish, circular kitchen with its shallow pantry, two skinny cabinets on either side of the stove (hello, spice storage?) the oh so lacking shelf space for my lovelies (dishes, cups, glasses = happy woman and don’t hint that I have too many), and the inches of counter space for preparation . . . well, it had me flummoxed.
And flummoxed led to frustration.
Frustration gave way to loathing. Yes, I said it, loathing. Â I LOATHED the idea of cooking in that kitchen where I just couldn’t figure the whole space thing out. It just didn’t feel natural to cook there. Â I didn’t have the rhythm that used to come naturally to me. I felt like a beginner cook.
And worst of all, everything tasted like I was a beginner cook!
So to cover for all of this, I made this loud and frequent declaration: Â “I HATE COOKING!”
It was working for me. I managed to ignore the nagging guilt associated with that persistent declaration, and my “other self” (i.e. my conscience) looking aghast at the anti-cooking me, warning, This is not who you are!
I blithely smiled and nodded at my husband and daughters as they lodged their complaints. Â After all, I had a very demanding job and was so tired! I had no time for cooking even if I’d wanted to cook (which I didn’t).
We went along happily/unhappily (depending on who you talk to), until– many take out menus later –something happened to change everything.
And suddenly my battle cry against cooking fell silent.