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Head start. Coming out of the gates strong.
In an effort to fulfill my new year’s resolution of cooking & entertaining more, I made a commitment. A concerted effort. I picked up my phone, called my mom and asked her over for dinner tomorrow night.
It might not sound like much but, for me, it is huge. I haven’t “formally” asked anyone over for dinner in a looooong time. Well, Kitty has come over. But it’s been…you know…those spur-of-the-moment things when you’re cooking something and it’s looking like it can feed an army and you’re single and your BFF calls. Stirring the pot, doing the shoulder-to-ear clutch with your cell phone (difficult at best…do not try this at home without supervision), you’re eye-balling the contents, thinking to yourself, “Oh for the love of the saints I can’t eat all this.” And your friend, who is also single, has just finished her laundry and is aimlessly wandering around her house and in need of refreshment so you tell her to bring over a six-pack and enjoy the batch of Chicken & Dumplings that is angelically simmering on your stove…oh and, Kitty, don’t forget to bring the Gerard Butler movie to watch, k? THAT is easy. THAT is effortless. But I’ve just committed to my mom coming over. And I committed to cooking. Listen up…I’m challenged enough on my days off to get a shower before 1pm, collapsing on the couch due to the hygiene effort, napping until 4pm, putzing until 6pm, put-makeup-on-face and go out for the evening with friends.
I used to not be like this. I used to cook. I used to entertain. (Marriage had a big part in this, I think.) And now look at me. A sorry, lumpish, sybaritic mass that needs to get off her backside and cowboy up.
Exactly. And that’s what I’m doing. The Studio has closed for the week between Christmas & New Years so I’m not working. High time. Perfect time for making headway.
Mom? Thanks for being the first again.
The menu? Hot-and-Crunchy Chicken Cones w/Mango Slaw. Green salad w/Champagne vinaigrette. Leftover Christmas cookies. Fingers crossed.
Now I worry…because I don’t have the just-so placemats with which to set the table. Go away, Mr. Neurosis!
Conveniently located in the frozen section at the supermarket. Corn dogs...why do you torment me so?
Due to one of the worst decisions I’ve made in my whole entire life (absolutely no exaggeration), I haven’t been really cooking for the past two years. And I cook. It’s what I do. It’s what puts the sass in Penelope.
This horrendous decision made two years ago left me kitchen-less. That’s right. Kitchen. Less. (okay…so here I may be slightly…ever so slightly…exaggerating). Sure I had a kitchen at my disposal, however it barely afforded itself to being functional enough to boil water. Cooking was not a joy in it. It was difficult, fragmented, painful, frustrating and apathetic.
Now I have a kitchen in which I can create worthy results. Cooking is effortless, inspirational and soothing once again.
I’m not a girla to make New Year resolutions. Making, and hearing other's, New Year resolutions leaves me a bit nauseated. But I’m going to stretch my intentions, here and now, and make one. I will cook this year. I will entertain more. I will feast and feed my soul and body once again. Boom done. There you have it.
Yet, as I survey my culinary arsenal, I also realize the neglect these past two years has had upon it. My pans are looking sadly worn and desperate. Next purchases? A few serious sauté pans. I’ve been eye-balling some slick, stainless numbers that make me dreamily envision seared meats. High time to invest some cash in that dream.
A few days ago, I took a break from my desk at work for a quick stroll around the block. I was walking past a dog training business that shared their building with a neon sign manufacturing company. Curious combination, huh? I noticed the sign on the door that said, "If you're here for a dog training session, please use the entrance on the north side of the building." My breath caught in my chest. I was bewildered and a bit disoriented and thought to myself, "Crap, which way IS north." If I had had a dog training session scheduled, I would have hopelessly thrown up my hands in despair, hauled the dog back in the car and, giving up, chosen a different trainer.I don't know my east from west or north from south. It really hasn't been an issue so far in my life until now that I was confronted with this sign. I'm a bit conflicted about it and have now put "Learn Your Directions" on my list of things to do.
