But first, let me just stress this - I've never been very domestic. Things like blenders, toaster ovens, slow cookers, pressure cookers, gas range stoves, the dishwasher, always made me uncomfortable. Or, to be more accurate, scared the crap out of me.
The kitchen and I, obviously, have never been very good friends.
It wasn't for lack of trying. Okay, maybe it was. I'd get as far as opening a cook book, see the ingredients, and let something like a "fingernail slice of ginger root" or "half a teaspoon of cummin" throw me completely out of whack. I'd feel my palms begin to sweat, my heart rate quicken, and my shoulders tense. "What the hell is ginger root?" I'd shout out to no one in particular before fumbling through the book in search of an "easier" recipe, one that included the basics - eggs, water, salt, pepper, onion. I usually only got a few pages in before, completely frustrated, I'd slam the book down on the counter and head to Subway.
Eventually I learned how to use the crock pot, and figured that would be the extent of my time in the kitchen. I'd toss in a roast, some carrots, and a few potatoes and call it good. After five or six hours, Chris and I would have a (sort of) five star meal.
And for a few years, that worked out just fine. I'd alternate between the crock pot and the microwave, turning out meal after unimaginative meal. And if any of those failed, I knew I could always turn to a select group of standbys - Subway, Chipotle, Arbys, the Crystal Creek Cafe - for much needed assistance. Those wonderful restaurants always, always had my back.
Then, a little over a month ago, something changed. Call it a miracle. Call it a coincidence. Or call it getting abducted by aliens and undergoing a brain transplant. Either way, something... happened.
In July, our good friends, April and Floyd, flew out from Iowa to spend a few days with us. We, to put it mildly, were completely stoked. By the time their flight had touched down, I had already planned a complete itinerary of meals for the occasion - all prepared by the hands of someone else, of course. We visited Ray's Boathouse and ate seafood by the water. We drove out to Whidbey Island and enjoyed Layer Cake Shiraz and good 'ole home cookin' from Greenbank Farms. We overindulged on hot dogs from a vendor at Pike Place Market. And, down at Alki Beach, we discovered a fantastic Mexican restaurant that served the most mouth-watering chips and salsa I'd ever tasted. All great meals. All one hundred percent delicious.
And the best part? I didn't have to set one foot in the kitchen.
On the last day of their trip, we headed down to a Seattle icon - the Pike Place Market. It houses some of the most enticing cuisines in the world and, if anything could make you want to cook, it would be this place. Fresh fish, fresh vegetables, fresh fruit... Warm bread, warm muffins, warm cookies... Our guests were immediately inspired. We ended up going home with salmon, asparagus, and cheesy bread so hot and fluffy it literally melted in your mouth.
But after leaving the Market -after leaving the sights and scents and hoopla behind - reality set in. Oh, God, I thought, my insides cringing. We're going to have to cook all this stuff...
Crap.
Fortunately for us, April and Floyd are well-seasoned chefs and graciously steered Chris and I in the right direction. Chris loves to grill, so he was beyond thrilled to be working with salmon - something he'd been wanting to learn for awhile. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite so enthusiastic. But, being a good sport, I poured a (rather large) glass of wine and gave it my best.
I don't know if it was being surrounded by good friends, or the wine, or the cluster of Michael Jackson videos set on repeat on On Demand, but I have never, ever, ever had more fun in the kitchen. Whatever it was, cooking took on a whole new meaning for me that day. My fear, as it was, gave way to passion.
I've been addicted ever since.
Over the past month, I've tried and successfully completed numerous recipes from a variety of sources: married, fit and fido (my friend Emily's blog, who happens to be an expert on all things healthy), Clean Eating Magazine, the South Beach Diet book, and Oprah.com. (And many, many more.) I honestly blow myself away with my creations - spinach stuffed mushrooms, mushroom and asparagus omelets, turkey muffins, manicotti, honey mustard chicken, grilled chicken in melon bowls, veggie quiche cups, etc.
I mean seriously. Who would have ever thought?
My passion is expanding. I constantly find myself browsing websites and magazines, looking for that next healthy meal to cook. I've recently tried Dr. Oz's Green Drink blender recipe, and love it. Now I start my mornings with a refreshing blend of spinach, apples, cucumbers, parsley, celery, and... ginger root. Go figure. (For someone who used to start her mornings with a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup candy bar or McDonald's Sausage and Egg McMuffin, this is quite a change.)
But even with my newfound passion, cooking is still a challenge. But now, it's a challenge that I love. And the kitchen can still be a bit daunting at times. But now, armed with the computer printout of my latest recipe, I no longer feel intimidated.
I still don't consider myself very domestic. There will always be those days when I feel the pull of an old friend calling. Those days when I work until six and, instead of turning to the kitchen, I turn to Subway. But those days are getting fewer and fewer between. More often than not, I'm excited to come home and hang with my new friend. To build not only healthy, tasty meals together, but new memories as well. And while the kitchen and I still don't always see eye to eye, we do get along. And that's the main thing.
After all, no friendship is perfect... Right?
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"Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all."
-- Harriet van Horne
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