When I first read Banana Yoshimoto’s novel «Kitchen» I still wasn’t that much into cooking and baking. What I mean is I wouldn’t mind preparing dinner when the Panther was too busy, but I did not either spend any time on food blogs or watching Jamie Oliver shows. (By the way, we’re talking about the second half of the 90s, so Jamie himself was about 20 and probably not yet famous. About the blogs, I’m not even sure they existed already, but you get what I mean right?).
“Kitchen”, however, really struck me, and I kept re-reading it over the years. It is true that when you live in the kitchen, you really know the heart of the family.
One of the common places about Italian people is that we’re all about food. It is not really true, but there are some things that often strike people from English-speaking countries (I know there are exceptions). I grew up without ever eating take-away or delivery food. Or anything bought ready to eat, for that matter. Almost every single day of my life I ahd a dinner (and often a lunch) that either I or someone else at home (mainly the Panther) had cooked. Even now I have a very hard time explaining KS that we are not going to order a pizza or take away, and that he is instead going to help me peel that three potatoes I’m tossing in our minestrone. What I’m trying to say is that somehow I find inacceptable (for myself) not to cook something for dinner. Mind you, I don’t think the others should cook: it’s just that I cannot avoid it.
My first job in a kitchen was in a pizza place in the UK, probably in 1999 (but it may be 1998), and I remember it a something completely crazy and out of control: the place was run by a bunch of Italian guys who were completely crazy (and totally keen on partying until 6AM), andtwisting pizza dough over your head while screaming was not only acceptable, but also encouraged.
While in business school, I lived for a while (almost one year, but I would go home on weekends) at my boyfriend’s parents place. The unspoken agreement was that, since I was the one who came home earlier, I would cook dinner. At this time I started taking an interest in baking, although I was totally unskilled (as at today, I still find it hard to cook in someone else’s kitchen).
Nowadays, Jamie Oliver is my celebrity crush. Every evening I cook dinner for KS and I, and we have guests for dinner at least once a week (but most of the time more often that that). I even bring over a packed lunch at work, and since I’m kind of always trying to shake off a few pounds, most of the time it’s minestrone or some other kind of homemade soup I bring along.
Although I’m vegetarian, I cook meat and fish for KS and for our guests. What I like most is baking. Baking warms up the house in winter, it doesn’t impregnate the kitchen with the smell of food as much as cooking on the stove, and it gives such wonderful looks to the food!!
I am however, waaay better at preparing appetizers and main course, real food I mean, than cakes and desserts. Yet, in September, I had decided I wanted to bake a special birthday cake for my beloved Seb, who happens to be a great rugby fun. This is what I managed to do…
“Kitchen”, however, really struck me, and I kept re-reading it over the years. It is true that when you live in the kitchen, you really know the heart of the family.
One of the common places about Italian people is that we’re all about food. It is not really true, but there are some things that often strike people from English-speaking countries (I know there are exceptions). I grew up without ever eating take-away or delivery food. Or anything bought ready to eat, for that matter. Almost every single day of my life I ahd a dinner (and often a lunch) that either I or someone else at home (mainly the Panther) had cooked. Even now I have a very hard time explaining KS that we are not going to order a pizza or take away, and that he is instead going to help me peel that three potatoes I’m tossing in our minestrone. What I’m trying to say is that somehow I find inacceptable (for myself) not to cook something for dinner. Mind you, I don’t think the others should cook: it’s just that I cannot avoid it.
My first job in a kitchen was in a pizza place in the UK, probably in 1999 (but it may be 1998), and I remember it a something completely crazy and out of control: the place was run by a bunch of Italian guys who were completely crazy (and totally keen on partying until 6AM), andtwisting pizza dough over your head while screaming was not only acceptable, but also encouraged.
While in business school, I lived for a while (almost one year, but I would go home on weekends) at my boyfriend’s parents place. The unspoken agreement was that, since I was the one who came home earlier, I would cook dinner. At this time I started taking an interest in baking, although I was totally unskilled (as at today, I still find it hard to cook in someone else’s kitchen).
Nowadays, Jamie Oliver is my celebrity crush. Every evening I cook dinner for KS and I, and we have guests for dinner at least once a week (but most of the time more often that that). I even bring over a packed lunch at work, and since I’m kind of always trying to shake off a few pounds, most of the time it’s minestrone or some other kind of homemade soup I bring along.
Although I’m vegetarian, I cook meat and fish for KS and for our guests. What I like most is baking. Baking warms up the house in winter, it doesn’t impregnate the kitchen with the smell of food as much as cooking on the stove, and it gives such wonderful looks to the food!!
I am however, waaay better at preparing appetizers and main course, real food I mean, than cakes and desserts. Yet, in September, I had decided I wanted to bake a special birthday cake for my beloved Seb, who happens to be a great rugby fun. This is what I managed to do…
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