I refer to my kitchen creations as adventures in part because I want to want to cook.  “Let’s go on an adventure!” is far more appealing than “let’s mince garlic, and dice chives, and wash and pat dry chicken (and wash and hard dry everything anywhere nearby for fear of salmonella), and sauté said chicken, and make a sauce, all the while forgetting about the now cooked chicken, and in effort to correct an overcooked meat, over thicken the sauce, only to serve a dried meat product with spiced glue.”  If the latter isn’t familiar to you it’s because you haven’t cooked in my kitchen, and likely why I haven’t invited you over for dinner.

Here’s the thing: I want to cook and I’m okay with the learning that comes with it.  Give me a cutting board and a sharp knife and I’ll happily dice and mince away, focusing on the intricacies of knife work via youtube videos and my mother-in-law’s deft hand.  I want to be able to intuit flavour profiles and make a rue (sp?) and manage courses and timing.  I want to arrange vegetables on a plate to such an extent that they resemble still life in pose.

Really, I want to chef – to move about the kitchen with full enthusiasm and know-how.

This all seems attainable, except that it’s not.  Or at least, hasn’t been.  I’m impatient and constantly cut corners, and while I harbour good intentions, I dock with subpar product.  This is self-effacing, but it’s also honest.  I am no chef.  But, it’s my kitchen and I can try if I want to.  So, join me as I try desperately to do right by unsuspecting ingredients.  Tips, tricks, admonishments welcome – and, if anything seems appealing – praise goes a long way.  So don your smartest apron and grab your deepest goblet as I pour the chefs juice, and together, let’s hope for the best.