An Apron and Heels

I love to cook. I find it to be seducing. I spend an insane amount of money buying fresh produce and organic ingredients. I want everything I put my mouth around to be savored, to taste the tang of the sun in a fresh pineapple, the warmth of the earth from the onions. Italian is my favorite because everything must be labored upon and loved for hours before it is acceptable. It is the most relaxing, my sauce must simmer for at least 3 hours. I could spend all day listening to hot jazz with a glass of wine, slicing and dicing and tasting. The time that I hate to cook is when I'm rushed and starving, it takes all the fun out. I like to linger, I read while I cook, pausing to mince garlic and infuse olive oil and cook by the gallon. The smell takes over my entire house, the basil, oregano, garlic and secret spices dazzle me and molest my senses until I am almost immune. I love to cook for people, to watch them as they take their first bite and make all of my hard work tangible. When I go to a good restaurant and order something delectable I eat it slowly and linger on every bite. There is a fantastic Italian restaurant about an hour from where I live that I visit at least once a month. Their alfredo sauce is so delectable. They pour it over fettuccini and top it with broccolini and marinated grilled chicken. This is the only dish that I have yet to master. My alfredo is good, don't get me wrong, but it is not yet THIS good.

Since being home from vacation I have cooked like a mad woman. I'm now on a cuban/island kick and am making pineapple salsa and mango chutney and have at least one hundred new ideas about how to fuse what I know and what I'm learning to make something unique. Tonight I'm working on a pecan encrusted chicken with pineapple chutney covered in a vanilla butter rum sauce. Last night it was romano and parmisan baked chicken with angel hair pasta tossed with sauteed yellow peppers, mushrooms and zucchini covered in a creamy marinara.

I would like to start making my own breads again. I feel the compelled to get my hands dirty with flour and knead a supple dough, smell it rise in the sun and bake it golden brown. There is nothing better than bread, fresh out of the oven, tearing off the end and drizzling it with real butter and while it is still steaming, devouring it. Licking every last drop of warm melted butter off your fingers.

Sometimes I think I should have been born earlier, in the 50's when all respectable housewives wore heels, aprons and pearls. I always cook in heels because that's what I wear daily anyways. I'm just shy of 5'7" without them and with them I'm still the shortest person in my group of friends and family (except my sister who is only 5'4"). But I also wear them because they make my fantastic legs look even better and I like to feel sexy. I also wear an apron at work when I'm cooking, but almost never at home. I do have a string of pearls, but I don't wear them daily, you are just as likely to catch me wearing my current favorite necklace that is made with brown beads and large turquoise. My sense of style certainly does make it easier to sell chocolates to the males that come in. You can't blame me for capitalizing on what I've got.