Hostile –- er Hostel Cooking

Flashback: 25 December 2005- Peoria, AZ. Gathered in my parents’ kitchen, 5 of us were comfortably working on Christmas dinner. Emrys grating cheese for the bread I was working on, Josh creating garlic smashed potatoes fit for a high end restaurant, mom fashioning the green bean casserole, and dad was hovering working on pictures of the affair. All the aromas in the room blending in perfect harmony, like a Mozart piece, to create a beautiful melody of tastes and smells that would soon be enjoyed as our Christmas dinner. Even though this was the new kitchen, at least one person in the room knew where to find most things and so the creations progressed smoothly.

Now we’re living in hostels. Each kitchen is different and each gives me more things to add to my list for my dream kitchen. Most of you know that I thoroughly enjoy cooking. I’ve come to realize that sitting down to enjoy the fruits of my work is part of the joy but the medley of aromas is also very important, as well as the cooking environment. So, given those as thoughts here’s what dinner preparation was like, a combined experience between last night and tonight.

Last night I cooked a meal I’ve made many times, but I wasn’t the only one cooking. I had two burners, two other folks had the other two on the stove I was using and 2 more hotplate type burners were in use on the other side (7 feet away) of the kitchen. I had things to chop. Cutting board- check, found that. But a knife- I think they were afraid we’d hurt ourselves. The only sharp one was a mere 3 inch paring knife. Fortunately for this evening the arrangement of aromas wasn’t too bad, most of the goings on seemed to have a pasta and tomato theme. So after an experience comparable to a mediocre piano recital, we sat down to eat.

Tonight Emrys cooked, I watched, again as the burners were taken up around him, as the kitchen filled up with those looking to cook their dinners as they moshed around each other to get to a cabinet, drawer, sink or burner. And then the moshing increased with smells. Our happy little stir fry was quickly stomped on by someone creating a bleu cheese and pasta dish, then someone else’s corn and tuna fish concoction, then sausage and then it was time for me to leave the kitchen. I couldn’t take the toddler-discovers-piano assault to my senses any longer. We happily ate our stir fry outside away from the racket of everyone else’s dinners!