I am not a chef. I have no training, I am sure many of you out there would laugh at my knife skills, but I can cook. And I love to. No one I meet would ever go hungry, and I wouldn’t feed you anything that wasn’t delicious.
So many people have a love-hate relationship with food, but food growing up meant cooking, and cooking meant family. Most of my life was spent in our kitchen and my mother would host dinner parties and cook home-made candy at Christmas. Maybe it’s rare for most people under thirty to have grown up that way, but I did.
Now my mother passed away, but she is still with me in the kitchen. It sounds corny, but you can see her there – in the hand-written recipes that I have in binders on the counter, in the measuring cups from my old kitchen, and in photographs and frames. A little bit in that moment when I try a new recipe, and it is utterly terrible, and I won’t let anyone taste it (no matter how supportive they plan to be).
I’m nobody special, just a girl in a kitchen, but I’d love to invite you in. The best way I can is this blog, but if I meet you, let me cook for you.
If you ever want to swap recipes or see what else I get up to, then let’s connect:
Oh and for more on the talented artist who painted me in my old kitchen: Kate Connolly Studio