November 17th, 2008

Home, cooking

It is good to be home. Not that being home is an entirely relaxing proposition, says the woman who has been doing laundry and dusting and sweeping and emptying trash, but it is still good. I like to sleep in my own bed.

I feel particularly grateful to have my kitchen back. I love eating in restaurants, but enough is enough. I craved my usual breakfast of two soft-boiled eggs over toast. I’ve had enough salty prepared food to hold me for a long time. Fruit! Water that doesn’t come in plastic bottles or taste weird!

Tonight we’re having company, so I planned ahead. I baked a cake yesterday. It’s not a fancy layer cake, just a simple tres leches cake that we will eat with strawberries and whipped cream. It felt so good to get myself covered in flour, to separate eggs, to smell vanilla.

This afternoon, I will prepare the chicken diable (recipe from a family friend), make rice with shiitake mushrooms and raisins and nuts, steam green beans. I’ll toss the greens with my usual suspects: slices of hearts of palm and mandarin oranges. I’ll warm the bread.

And then the miracle will occur: a warm and happy dinner with dear people.