Where The Bread Knows. . . the perfect kitchen. .

The Perfect Kitchen. . . cook’s heaven. . .

(where the bread knows the feel of my hands. .)  I have been in  cook’s heaven and I need to get my fill of it.   Son John and in law daughter Lori have given me a taste of that paradisal place every cook knows exists but never to have; a kitchen with enough space to make Thanksgiving dinner all the time and a place to put every washed plate and pan afterwards. 

It has been my contention that people shy from preparing food simply because of the cleanup.  Enthusiasm will have us begin and put together exciting dishes but to think of clean up is dismaying.  It will undo every good intention when picturing  putting everything back.   

When I was pulled into kitchen duty on the Farm because of my inability to withstand the sun and heat,  it put my mother in the field to help and me in her kitchen to feed the farm workers.  My quiet brother gave me an encyclopedic cookbook and at 12 years my passion for cooking erupted.  My heavy as lead cakes were loved by my brothers and my quick breakfast scones were indeed my sister’s favorites. 

And as I grew in experience with every aspect, even the cleaning up, I still loved the art  requiring passion.  Experimenting was crucial to learning and fortunately there were appetites without worries about weight that only came with city life, not farmers.

I learned to love the kneading of breads and eventually the no knead bread of my dotage.  And the English muffin bread  and the baking of dog biscuits that dogs crave by their waving  tails. 

I found a  love of Lorna Doone cookies  followed by my own version of pretend Doones that truthfully I love more.  Because I can make them myself when I crave them and it takes little time and 4 ingredients. 

Right now the bread making, the spice cookies I call windmills without the molds, and my pretend Doones have me happy with my specialties.  But satisfied  because the kitchen is a dream for me with a place for everything. 

Lori’s vision planned the kitchen and John’s love of craftmanship with his hands, made it.  I never thought talent for feeding who I loved to be taken to such a height by a well planned kitchen.  I wonder how many meals are thrown together by our lack of prioritizing what should be prime for all families, a solidifying and celebration of times together every day. 

The last time I saw my mother she apologized for not knowing how to show love.  Being an orphan, she said no one ever taught her how.   Thoughtfully she did every day with putting  love into every meal she cooked.  Her kitchens were not state of the art, but the results in the kitchen were.    I remember.

My kitchen times are love conscious and I wish those remembered.


3 responses to “Where The Bread Knows. . . the perfect kitchen. .”

  1. email from Suzanne. . .

    This spoke to my heart, Veronica, and it’s only now that I can fully appreciate my mom loving us every day through her meals. I wish I had had my “heart realizations” when my mom was still here to thank.
    Now that she’s gone, I’ve opened up to so many things I took for granted. There was so much more left to say, and no one left to say them to.

    Sent from my iPhone

  2. Suzanne. . along with the heart realizations is the knowledge yet hidden that ‘life everlasting’ means exactly that. We are forever open to appreciation what was not borne yet in understanding by our beloveds. When it is knowledge it truly is the pearl of great price. Show your love, but keep a big hug for yourself.

  3. Veronica,

    I share your joy in a new and improved kitchen that allows you to cook and bake and infuse your love in everything you make! Last week, I made your Chewy Oatmeal Cookies — did you know? (They are the ones with molasses.) Some of my friends now ask for them.

    Sending you love and holding you close (especially in the kitchen!), Catherine

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