I like to cook

I like the weight of a nice knife in my hand and the way it slides through an onion or a bell pepper. I like the pop and sizzle of garlic sauteing on the stove. I like the way the tips of my fingers smell faintly sweet after I clean and slice a quart of strawberries. I like the way nothing, just a collection of ingredients, becomes something warm and solid and sustaining.

I didn't remember that I liked cooking until I started cooking for Michael after we were married. Years of living alone and eating microwave popcorn and diet coke for dinner made me forget the sensual pleasures of firm bell peppers and creamy mashed potatoes. I remember now and rejoice in my cook books.

I've come to enjoy cooking on Sunday afternoons best of all. During the week I tend to make standards, meals I know I can do well and quickly. Ah, but Sunday I can linger and putter and bake. On Sundays I make breads and roasts and new recipes that have recently caught my eye.

I find that I genuinely love to cook for Michael and the boys, though I do mourn the loss of the cheese and dairy based meals I can't make for my allergic husband. I feel domestic and caring in the best possible way.

So, what's on the menu for next Sunday? Chicken cacciatore, homemade bread and an lovely salad. Anyone want to come over?