One of the most important things for you to know about my kitchen is how people refer to it when they see it: it is “cute.” That means, for those who haven’t had the term applied to their kitchens, “so small that the dishwasher door hits the counter and no one can open the oven door in that cute 1950’s flounce to check the turkey, but rather has to crane over from the side in order to open it at all.” I’ve never opened my oven all the way, for fear of burning myself in an attempt to close it.

I am, by the way, not actually complaining. It’s nice to be a newlywed in a kitchen where you brush against each other inevitably because any two human frames, back to back, fill the whole space in our kitchen. There are cute countertops, a ton of wonderful tools given to me during my bridal shower, and an amazing pot rack hanging from the high ceiling that I still smile at every time I see it.

The pot rack gives me special joy because I have a quality that is usually frowned upon in adults: I don’t like to put things away. My now-husband, then-boyfriend was flummoxed by my tendency to put things in (and I quote) “exactly the place where you think about putting them down, rather than in a place where you’ll be able to find them again.” What this ends up looking like is that all of the things I own – clothes, books, pots and pans – are usually out where I can see them, in no discernible order, and differently arranged than last week.

My husband is laid back and reasonably tidy and clean, not a neat freak, so I knew going into this whole marriage-and-living-in-the-same-space thing I would be adjusting. Still, a pot rack is a thing of beauty for us: it is a designated space for the pots and pans, which he likes, and I never am tempted to put a pot down anywhere else because the kitchen is too small for even my lazy style to leave a pot somewhere.

We’ve had very few visitors so far in the house: we live far from friends and family and haven’t really had time to make new friends. However, I really enjoyed the few visitors we’ve had who roomed with me in college, because as opposed to others, who probably said “This place would be nice if they didn’t have so many empty rooms” in their heads, my college friends probably thought “this man has reformed her; she is a woman born anew.” I always like for people to judge me on my improvement, not my absolute accomplishment, at least where cleaning is concerned.

Lastly, I’ve “opened this up” – I’ve asked a variety of other friends to offer up some recipes for me to use, those they like and those that are close to their hearts. I’m trying not to make all the foods have some “deeper significance,” though if they do, that’s awesome. Mostly, it’s fun to hear the stories of the foods; how they made it, how they learned to perfect it.

For this reason, I’m holding my first dinner party tomorrow! I’m excited to see what people come up with, and how my new cleaning skills hold up in the face of many visitors. Will update on various aspects of the party next week. 🙂

M and I started our friendship in a class full of disagreement. It was one of those discussion-based classes, but instead of no one doing the reading and leaving the 50 minutes after a lot of awkward pauses, we filled the time with questions and thoughts. M and I met up once or twice, but until we went on a road trip 8 months later to a conference together, we didn’t grow close. For a month or so, we would hang out every day – going to plays on campus, eating at the dining hall, staying up late doing craft projects and getting up early to drink coffee together.

Then she transferred to another school. Since then, our years-long friendship has been mostly digital – we visit when we can, but our conversations are a long, LONG reminder that we have so much in common. I rely on her whenever I happen to be online researching or writing, because she often has something new and interesting for me to think about.

She sent me a recipe which she later pointed out “has very little significance, it was just something that we made and enjoyed.” I tried it, though in a lazy way, but discovered that 1. I’m not a big fan of brussel sprouts and 2. sage is one of the strangest flavors ever.

Shopping for this recipe was hard, and I didn’t even manage to remember mushrooms. I found sage at a local mega-mart after shopping for a lot of other odd foods (spaghetti squash!) as well as fresh brussel sprouts. I recently learned that brussel sprouts, col rabe, broccoli, cauliflower, collard greens, and kale all come from the same plant – though when I say same plant, I mean species, not literally the same bush or vine or whatever it is. The genetic variation within it is nothing less than amazing. Sage however, was a thing apart – fuzzy leaves with a thick, floral scent. The mega-mart sales associate I asked about polenta looked at me like I was crazy and Husband cracked a joke that polenta was “what comes out with the baby.” Still, I persevered, and located Polenta straight from Italy in the Italian food section, hidden between other ethnic food sections, quite a distance from the pasta and sauces.

I made the recipe on a very very cold night, and I realized that all this actual cooking (very little take-out pizza lately) has me taking comfort in chopping things. A good song on the radio, a pile of fuzzy leaves, a few well-quartered brussel sprouts – all were reassurances that I was where I needed to be at that moment. M has often encouraged me to believe I am good enough at things, not somehow lagging behind everyone else in the human race because it takes me a while to learn my lessons. Cutting up brussel sprouts and sage does something similar.

The brussel sprouts probably needed a little longer in my oven, and I have no idea how much better they would have been if I had cooked them with olive oil and mushrooms (I cooked them in a cream-of-mushroom soup, which was still savory and mushroomy but not nearly as light as I expect real mushrooms would have been). Still, after a minute in the microwave with the much-faster-to-cook polenta, they were tender but firm. Sage was a flavor that I felt I wanted to smell more than I wanted to eat, but at the same time the whole dish felt like something utterly different from anything else I cook.

Another friend told me recently that The Simple Veganista, a food blogger, had made her “look at vegetables in a whole new way.” Trying recipes that were recommended to me but which I wouldn’t have picked out  for myself is doing the same thing for me: sending me deep into the fresh herbs aisle, having me quarter fresh brussel sprouts, making the regular shopping adventure into a new thing. M has had that effect on me: when she visits, I see my regular life in a new light, or we meet up in places that neither of us know well and we find something extraordinary about them. Perhaps one of the things I find most amazing about M is that she persistently looks for the best: not just in a very-sunny-and-positive way, but that she doesn’t delude herself that something is the best if there is some new possibility around the corner.

I tried the leftover sprouts and polenta today – I appreciate the mixing of flavors more today than I did the first day. I recommend that you save at least a serving to try post-refridgeration, if you aren’t making this for a big group. 🙂

This recipe, beautifully photographed and described, is on Oh My Veggies, so check them out to start your own veggie adventure: http://ohmyveggies.com/recipe-sage-polenta-bowls-with-roasted-brussels-sprouts-wild-mushrooms/

I expected for A’s recipe to make a ton of food when I remembered the last time we cooked together. She and I stayed friends after being college roommates and I visited her family for almost a week; we decided to make curry. We massively misjudged how much coconut cream, rice, chicken, spices, everything we needed and ended up filling a big stock pot with spicy, warm goodness – it’s a good problem to have in January though we were eating it for days. We didn’t follow a recipe, but rather the laws of push and pull – when it became apparent that we’d added too much rice, she threw on more chicken to brown; when the sauce got weak and thin, I added in more yogurt. The problem being, as always, that you cannot take anything out, scale it back to a manageable size.

A has watched me in so many stages of life, talking me through many huge decisions, and even now she knows just what to give me: while others lavished me with the cheesy, crispy, delectable dishes that meant home to them, A gave me a dish that was so nutrient filled and simple that I almost judged it too healthy. She knows that I struggle to eat enough vegetables; she knows so much that she sent a recipe that would build me, make me stronger.

A’s lentil soup starts with sautéing vegetables (a green pepper, an onion, tons of garlic, mushrooms) in butter, so it wasn’t all roughage, but then it gets filled up with spinach, tomato, water, and lentils. The whole thing has to cook for an hour but much of that time is idle; I used it to mop and to make two other recipes, because I have a busy week and wouldn’t be able to get to them otherwise, but it seemed fitting that there was time for reflection bundled into A’s soup. She is a thoughtful person, not in the “sweet and considerate” way (though she is that too) but also just a person who thinks a lot, who has never allowed adulthood to crowd contemplation out of her days.

In a book I’ve been reading as part of my food memoir stint, Blood, Bones, and Butter, the author Gabrielle Hamilton describes hunger as specific; be it hunger for cream or hunger for salt or hunger for crisp, it’s always connected to something in particular. In her list of cravings, she mentioned “watery.” I felt like I had rarely had a craving for watery – wouldn’t that just be thirst? Then I thought of the brothy soup served at Japanese restaurants, and of watermelon, and of celery, and I realized there were cravings for watery things.

When I served the soup to Husband, he liked it a lot despite finding it watery (also despite having it alongside two other dishes with much more flavor and intensity). He said that while it was bland, it satisfied a craving he’d been having – warm and strengthening, with just a twinge of pepper at the end and not complicated. It surprised me, given how flavorful he likes his food, but it also didn’t surprise me, because he is so like that soup: hearty and simple and good for you. He is not a flashy person, not excessive in almost any way. I appreciate that about him, and about the soup.

A and I did not date in college (anyone, not just each other; though at work they referred to us as a couple jokingly because we left together most days. We lived in the same house!). When we both finally found someone, we began our relationships within months of each other and have now been with those same two men for years – our relationships don’t look anything alike but we’ve weathered many of the stages at very similar times. A knows all my hopes and dreams and how I see Husband very well, so it seems fitting for her to also send me a soup recipe that would remind me of him.

The soup was good even though I had no mozzarella to finish it off, and perfect for a January evening. Having all that brightness in all that cloudy broth was exactly what a knowledgeable friend would have wanted for me. It also was exactly the right amount for one dinner and lunch leftovers, which is more than I can say for our bucket of curry a few years ago.

Lentil Soup (4-6 servings)
½ cup lentils
½ head garlic chopped
1 small onion or ½ large, chopped
8 ounces mushrooms, diced
1 cup spinach chopped
salt, pepper, oregano
2 tbsp butter
1 green pepper chopped
2 or 3 tomatoes, diced
water (8-10 cups?)

Put pepper, onion, mushroom, and garlic in bottom of large pot with butter over medium heat (don’t burn garlic!). After veggies soften, add the rest of the ingredients and bring to a boil. When it reaches a boil, lower to a simmer and cook for about 1 hour. Add more time if lentils are not cooked through (should be soft and pop from their shells a little). Spices are to taste. I usually end up adding another tbsp of butter. May use a little olive oil in addition to butter in beginning steps. Tastes delicious served with mozzarella on top.