self-portrait sunday, late again
I was in Ohio this weekend, visiting family and shooting a wedding, so Saturday was busy and Sunday was spent riding in a car. Hence the lack of posting.
This week's photo was inspired by one of my (sadly all-too-rare) domestic fits. I'm a decent cook, really I am. I was raised in a family of girls by a really good cook who traveled extensively when she was young, so she brought all that inspiration back and fed it to us. Consequently, I've never made a steak in my life, but I can cook stir-fry like no-one's business. When I was 13, my family bought a restaurant, which all of us then worked in for the next couple of years. (I'm a fantastic short-order cook, in case anyone cares. I LOVED working the grill.) The opening bars of "All Things Considered" brings back memories of being in the kitchen at 5 am, starting coffee, baking pies, and making the soup of the day. Even now I can mix up a delicious batch of New England Clam Chowder.
These days, though, my cooking acumen tends more toward baking; I can do it in fits and starts, and the results are sure to disappear. If I make dinner once a week I'm doing well, and I'm happy munching on leftovers until they're gone. My grandmother is scandalized at this lifestyle, but it works for us. So on the days when I DO manage to cook, its usually a feast. I tie on a retro apron, shake up an extra-dirty gin martini, and crank up the happy cooking tunes.
And then I try to pawn the dirty dishes off on someone else.
This week's photo was inspired by one of my (sadly all-too-rare) domestic fits. I'm a decent cook, really I am. I was raised in a family of girls by a really good cook who traveled extensively when she was young, so she brought all that inspiration back and fed it to us. Consequently, I've never made a steak in my life, but I can cook stir-fry like no-one's business. When I was 13, my family bought a restaurant, which all of us then worked in for the next couple of years. (I'm a fantastic short-order cook, in case anyone cares. I LOVED working the grill.) The opening bars of "All Things Considered" brings back memories of being in the kitchen at 5 am, starting coffee, baking pies, and making the soup of the day. Even now I can mix up a delicious batch of New England Clam Chowder.
These days, though, my cooking acumen tends more toward baking; I can do it in fits and starts, and the results are sure to disappear. If I make dinner once a week I'm doing well, and I'm happy munching on leftovers until they're gone. My grandmother is scandalized at this lifestyle, but it works for us. So on the days when I DO manage to cook, its usually a feast. I tie on a retro apron, shake up an extra-dirty gin martini, and crank up the happy cooking tunes.
And then I try to pawn the dirty dishes off on someone else.
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