Cooking

It has taken a lot of hard work and determination, and deliveries from various outlets, but I finally have something resembling a cosy home. I’ve decorated in pinks and greens, and tried to mix up the textures, lots of soft blankets, cushions and rugs to make it feel all girly. But the best joy is coming from the kitchen.

Let me tell you, I haven’t had my cookware in drawers and cupboards in seven years… since I first told you that I packed them up for who knows how long it would be. Now, although I would have preferred well-loved op shop versions, being closed, I had to go for new versions of pots, plates, utensils. But there is a certain calm that goes with opening those doors and seeing exactly what I need and nothing more. Sometimes I wish I had kept this from my last declutter, maybe feel surprise that I had thrown that out, but I haven’t yet felt anything gone was something I needed. So maybe I made some good calls after all.

But the joy from remembering an old favourite recipe, and going back to my cookbook collection to find it … mmm… I’m really embracing that. Today I went to the market armed with my list and spent too much money on produce. Yet there was a joy in doing so. Tonight I cooked up a warming lentil mushroom casserole from a favourite French cookbook, drinking a good red wine while the rain poured and the wind blustered outside. Baked it in my favourite Corningware casserole dish gifted to me decades ago by my first nanny family. Made mash potato, which I love, but didn’t have a masher, thought should I buy one? – But then decided my barmix would whiz it up just fine.

To sit at my new dining table, enjoy a hearty dish on a stormy night, with a good glass of red. Soothing tunes on the radio. I knew in that moment, what it feels like to be home, and enjoy the simplest things.

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