Katrina and Jenny

I’m mesmerized by those who do it well. The assurance, the graceful and fluid movements, the alchemy, the aroma, the moans of pleasure that inevitably result.

But alas, cooking remains a mystery to me.

When I’m in the kitchen, I spill things, burn things, forget to put eggs in the meatloaf (thus resulting in the famous Katrina Meat Pile). I much prefer eating to cooking. And drinking to eating.

For months now, I’ve vowed to incorporate the kitchen into my life — in more meaningful ways than simply washing dishes and Lysol-ing the sink.

It’s a scary and intimidating place for me, full of the unknown.

“You’ll be great,” my dear husband assures me. “You’re an artist. This is art. Just go with it.”

That from a man who can take rutabaga, Red Hots, duck liver, and some leftover Kraft macaroni and cheese and make a feast from it. We really need to get him on “Chopped.”

I’ve also been inspired by my friend, Jenny, who loves to create with fresh food from her garden, entertains like she’s expecting the Queen for dinner, and finds great pleasure in every moment of it. As one of my Christmas gifts, she gave me a kitchen journal. Combining my first love — writing — with the Great Unknown of the Kitchen? Brilliant.

I recorded my first entry after New Year’s Day. And it went like this…

01/01/2012

We awoke in the warm and welcoming home of our dear friends, Joe and Kirsten, on this glorious New Year’s Day. Bed-headed and still recovering from an evening of over-abundant food and drink, we all stumbled into the family room at various intervals to drink coffee and snuggle on the couch. When lunch beckoned and kids inquired with hungry eyes, Kirsten began to prepare an array of finger foods — a New Year’s Day buffet.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Why don’t you dip the strawberries?” she suggested as she melted a bowl of milk chocolate. And it was GOOD milk chocolate, not the cheap kind — thanks to the pushy and insistent woman who stood next to her in the baking aisle. There was also white chocolate. And dark chocolate. I had three different bowls with which to create my masterpieces — or my personal embarrassment.

Instantly, I panicked. Strawberries? Chocolate? Dipping? How did that work? Did I take the stems off? How far did I dip them? My inexperience in the kitchen nearly rendered me useless.

Yes, I know. It was just strawberries and chocolate. I KNOW. No judging.

“Sure,” I agreed. And I pulled my big girl cooking panties on and began dipping as well as I knew how. We laughed and talked, Kirsten and I. Mary Claire joined us for awhile, licking the extra chocolate from her wandering fingertips. Then she joined Aly in the family room and their giggly chatter became our background music.

In the distance, we could hear the boys yelling and cheering their favorite teams to victory. Chris and Joe outdid each other with their Larger-Than-Life Laughter.

I dipped.

We talked.

I was.

It was pure perfection, this state of being. The strawberries may not have been perfect, but no one complained. And every single one of them was eaten.

But here’s the real magic.

Chocolate-dipped strawberries now have new meaning for me. They now conjure up images of good friends, genuine laughter, and a brand new beginning. They will forever make me think of my beautiful blonde friend — the one who withholds judgment and loves unconditionally. The one who is smart and witty and sexy and sassy. The one who blesses my life with her love and devotion and her sweet dance moves.

Who knew strawberries were so powerful?

Share This Post

6 Responses

  1. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who wake up thinking about what they will make for dinner and those who don’t.

  2. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who wake up thinking about what they will make for dinner and those who don’t.

  3. I can hardly wait to teach you the art of injecting those berries with an exotic flavored liqueur!
    Enjoy! Hugs, J

  4. I can hardly wait to teach you the art of injecting those berries with an exotic flavored liqueur!
    Enjoy! Hugs, J

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Sign up for my mailing list

More To Explore

Happy Holidays. (Or Not.)

Society says we should be jolly and happy and thankful and joy-filled during these days. Commercials tell us to feel the magic and the wonder. But we don’t all feel it. Some of us feel hollowed out. Some of us feel lonely. Some of us feel the weight of having a double-digit bank account or mounting credit card bills. Some of us watch cheesy holiday movies and feel that we’re not enough, that we don’t measure up.

Some of those people are me. Some might be you.

Love and Gratitude

When I was younger, I believed a family was easy to define: A mother, a father, the children, a pet or two. I spent most of my life building that kind of family—the kind that had been modeled to me, the kind that I read about in my beloved books.

Poor As a Church Mouse

In this forced season of unemployment (300+ applications and not one interview. Seriously.), I have finally learned to slow down a bit. I spend long days writing my memoir and working on my next book. It is a luxury I’ve never had.