Thursday night I had friends over for dinner, and it was the first time I had cooked on my own for a group of people. Crazy, I know, but I have artfully avoided the act for years. Even pot lucks stress me out, so it's not uncommon for me to just bring beer instead. I actually love cooking, but I feel completely ignorant about it. It's not the kind of thing my mother and I ever did together, and I spent so little time in my grandmother's kitchen growing up, that I just didn't get hands-on cooking experience. By the time I moved out on my own when I was 18, I was already working full time and that on top of college didn't exactly bode well for developing an interest in gastronomy, so aside from cooking some basic meals for one, I didn't spend much time in the kitchen
Moving into this new place in November has really changed my relationship with food. Living within walking distance to the grocery store has made a huge difference, because going to the store provides the opportunity for a nice walk outdoors, chance meetings with friends, and it's so convenient that I don't feel pressured to make that daunting weekly cart-filling trip that has only ever resulted in drawers of rotten produce and loaves of moldy bread. I've been loving making kombucha and kefir, breakfast and lunch, and I figured it was finally time to make a meal for more.
The menu was simple, but I was so proud just to have everything finish at once. We ate organic burgers with cumin, thyme, garlic, and black pepper topped with kale chips and tomato; sea salt and balsamic vinegar brussells sprouts, and lightly peppered asparagus.
It turned out pretty well, and only wetted my appetite for more group fooding.
Friday night was a whirlwind.
My advice for the day: cook way too much decadent food, eat until you burst, dance it off.