the kitchen of a home is historically where the hearth was. it was the place for cooking, warmth and nurture. families gathered around the hearth three times a day to share their stories. their accomplishments. their fears. their plans. their love.
my kitchen doesn't have a hearth, but it's still the place i spend most of my time. i love to cook and serve carefully orchestrated meals to my friends and family. i put a little bit of myself on to each plate and in the pause between fork and bite i am vulnerable, as i wait for approval.
haley's kitchen is starting to come together. the sink is connected, the dishwasher in place, and i even cleaned out the fridge. there's an increasing inventory of essential tools and ingredients; and despite the lacking counter-tops, it's a space i find workable.
last night i made dinner on selman street, in this emerging kitchen. i improvised without a recipe or pantry or spice rack. i followed my instinct and hesitantly served a meal i'd never tried before.
vulnerability at the hearth.
vulnerability at the heart.
last night saw both.
d: trust in instinct
b: dinner was delicious.
g: loving reception
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