Thursday, August 21, 2014

I miss my island

I have been culinarily spoiled for most of my life.

I was the child who took smoked salmon and pâté to kindergarten for lunch. My parents are excellent cooks, and I can't think of a single meal they've prepared that has not been tasty. (There was that one time my dad made a shrimp mousse for dinner, but, as he proudly points out, he did not follow Julia Child's instructions and it still came out perfectly.) I am used to cooking in a kitchen with any appliance or spice or cookbook at my fingertips.

I also miss having a personal dishwasher.

I am a foodie and I am proud of it.

But for now, I must leave the comforts of stainless steel appliances, a large granite island, and Le Creuset cookware to cook in a teeny apartment kitchen with an electric stove and no decent knives. I am, to be quite frank, in alien territory.

Anticipating my move into this apartment, I was terrified that I wouldn't know how to cook on an electric stove. How would I tell how hot the stove is or how hot it needed to be without looking at the size of a flame underneath a burner? How would I turn something from a rolling boil to a gentle simmer when electric ranges take so long to change temperature? I was also more than a little apprehensive about being completely responsible for obtaining and preparing all my food for myself all the time.

I needn't have worried one bit.

The sausage isn't so pretty, but just look at those colorful veggies!

Last night, I cooked my first meal in this apartment and did not burn a thing. A meal of spinach and feta chicken sausage and a sautéed medley of zucchini, squash, onions, and tomatoes came out better than I had anticipated. I set the stove dial on temperature 5 and hoped for the best. I chopped everything I needed to in a square foot of counter space.

It was delicious and I was happy. One day at a time, one meal at a time, and I think I can get this whole cooking-for-myself thing down.

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