I spend more time in the kitchen than any other room of the house. Slicing an apple, making a cup of tea, or preparing a Sunday roast dinner – the kitchen is my therapy, with loud sonatas playing on my iPhone as a soundtrack to the bubbling of soup or chopping of vegetables. I don’t eat to live, I cook to enjoy life.
It was not always this way. A few years ago, boiled pasta and a jarred sauce was an accomplished meal. Wonder Bread was the only bread I would eat, seeing as whole grain bread was grainy and simply unreasonable. During my time at university, there weren’t many opportunities for culinary greatness. When 8 a.m. classes were well into my rear-view mirror, I had no excuses. And now that I have a tiny family, I had someone to cook for. I wanted to make big Sunday dinners, fresh muffins to bring to work, and healthy lunches that can be packed to go.
As I learned to cook, I learned to love – my time in the kitchen is sacred, and I rarely let anyone join me. There is a lot going on, like a well-choreographed ballet with plenty of leaping and spinning. I am not an expert chef, dietician, or nutritionist, but I have learned a thing or two about balanced, healthful, delicious meals.
On Mondays, you’ll usually be joining me in the kitchen with a great recipe, a look at my day-to-day menu, or a lesson in a Capsule Kitchen (more on that later). Mondays will be a time to spend at home, with a warm meal, a good housekeeping tip, or a chat by the fire. Think of Mondays at Martha Stewart Living days – or rather, Wellington Living days.