Wednesday, September 30, 2009
One of the hardest things about living with Granny is that the kitchen is not really "mine". I love to cook and bake, and I hate having people hover over me when I do so. Granny is bored, and likes things done her way, so when I try to cook I get, "Do you need a pan? I have this pan. Do you need salt? The salt is over there." She has set aside a small amount of space in the kitchen for some of my cooking stuff, but it's nowhere near enough - there are boxes and boxes of kitchen things in the cellar. So when I cook, I'm going up and down two flights of stairs, unless I super organize ahead of time.
She just bought a new refrigerator which ended up being smaller than the last, so God forbid I take up too much room. Not that I want to keep tons of stuff in there, as she'll just end up washing it all again. (P.S. If I live to 91, God forbid, I'm blowing all my money on expensive appliances. Stainless steel, French door refrigerators, Viking ranges, front loading washer dryers with nano-steam technology, one of those dishwashers that will wash a plate even if it has an entire piece of cake on it...)
Anyhoo, yesterday I bought a bookcase for my cookbooks, which is already nearly full. And I didn't even include what we referred to at the bookstore as "food narratives", books of people writing about cooking. I guess I'm cooking vicariously through my books for now.