Despite being an idiot yesterday and thinking that a radio tower by my parents’ house in the Sunset was Coit tower, I’m back. (Thank goodness for snarky little brothers who feel immediately compelled to remind older sisters how dumb they can be.)I have been cooking. Not cooking a lot, but at least moving around the kitchen and chopping a couple of vegetables a few times a week. I made a small pot of white bean soup two days ago which should last me the rest of the week. By the way, this isn’t because I have the appetite of a bird, but rather because I’m so hungry by the time I get in the door, I usually stuff enough blue corn chips and guacamole into my mouth that I ruin my appetite and only have room for three chocolate peanut butter cups, some egg salad, and half a pint of cherries. I never even get to the soup. And yes, that is what a normal dinner for me looks like.
Since I’m living in someone else’s fully furnished townhouse this summer though, everything in the kitchen has been new and unfamiliar. From the induction stovetop (never used anything but a gas stove), to the dishwasher (don’t have one in my SF apartment, don’t know how to work it), to where all the pots are stored and which knife is sharpest. The microwave also seems unnaturally powerful.
It’s all new.
Plus, despite the pantry’s enormous stash of spices, I still haven’t been able to find the pepper.
I like that I’m finding my rhythm of making lunches, heating up dinners, and quick snacks. My roommate Caitlyn is also super sweet. I lucked out.