I had some time to do some thorough cleaning of the kitchen, and it was wonderful. Many people don’t particularly enjoy this activity, and there the times that I don’t care for it, but more often than not, I find it to be a very satisfactory experience. There’s just something about having something about starting with something very disorganized and messy and ending with a well-organized kitchen. It’s as if I clean my own thoughts up while I clean the plates; when I’m done, I have a feeling of accomplishment and am always more relaxed.

Our kitchen is not the nicest one I’ve seen. It’s quite old, like the rest of the house; there are cracks and holes, and a single fluorescent bulb shines nakedly down on us. To turn it on at all requires no small amount of coercion. But for all that, it’s a good kitchen, very livable. We’ve got a nice gas range, some solid pots and pans, and a sharp set of knives along with plenty of counter space. There’s enough room for the wife and I (and a guest or two) to bustle around making dinner.

Most of the real cooking goes on over the weekend, as most weekday evenings fatigue has set in, and the thought of spending an hour or two preparing food isn’t the most tantalizing. We usually cook together, and we both have our specialties. I’m good with soups, stews, and all things mexican. V. takes care of risotto, pizza, breads (excepting cornbread, which I make in our cast-iron skillet), and desserts. I do most of the cleaning, but I don’t mind. It’s not much of a chore, really.