My inner-50's-diva helps me take control of life through the kitchen.Sometimes when I'm grappling with Jane's new napless/late nap schedule, the endless parade of papers and laundry, the evening settling in at 4:30 at night, withdrawals from "The Office" and "30 Rock," and my inability to see my toes, I find one refuge: The Kitchen. I cook dinner. The fresher, the better. If it's something new and it comes out well, that's the best.
I roasted my second chicken ever this week, on a night like that one. It came out juicy and browned and salty--just what we needed on a damp, cold Tuesday. Nothing magical happened with that dinner--it took hours longer than it should have, to the point of splitting it into the side dish course and the meat course--but there was something profound about watching Brad bite into that chicken, long anticipated, highly acclaimed. And it was so nice to hear someone else say they wish we weren't out of Brussels sprouts, they were so rich and flavorful. Okay, perhaps it was magical: for once, I didn't burn the rice. Or undercook it. Or add too much water.
Nothing makes this woman feel more in control than ruling every corner of my kitchen.
