In The Kitchen in anticlimatic

It being winter in the north country, and it being a house of undetermined age beyond 110 years, I keep it very cold in here and my heating bill is still outrageous. It’s my first winter, and although I did some cursory and mandatory winterizations, I wasn’t as thorough as I could have been. Wanted to see what a baseline looked like to compare potential improvements.

One of the leakier rooms in the house is the kitchen- I thought it was the old door with the cracks you could see daylight through, but I think cold air is sneaking through the wall down by the floor, under the trim. Having demolished the porch that was attached on the other side, and ripped up the carpet and padding in the kitchen itself (yes, carpet), I think it created an opening. It’s cold in the whole house, but it’s extra cold in the kitchen- unless, of course, I am cooking.

When the oven is firing especially, but even if I am just using the burners, the room warms right up. It becomes a cozy place immediately. I always cook with the radio on. Force of habit at this point, as most of what I hear on the radio annoys me these days (wasn’t always so, alas), but there is often some good music and (extremely rarely) some good programming, but the ambiance always has an appeal- and, of course, the general sense of being connected to my direct community at large, or at least those of us tuning in at that particular time.

Although I generally prefer to spend my limited energy resources on other things, I adore cooking. I love cleaning, shaping, carving up vegetables. I love cutting tablespoons of butter off of the stick…always reminds me of my mother’s kitchen, but my great grandmother’s company. A distant fuzzy time in the late 80s I believe. I love the way it melts in the cast iron- clean and golden. I love the first good aroma that wafts up after the garlic and shallots hit the pan and sizzle.

I think I do my best thinking while I’m cooking.