Once upon a time, my kitchen was beige.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not literally \u2013 it\u2019s been painted antique white, cantaloupe orange, and palest blue, but never beige. No – it was the food itself that lacked color. The palette of my palate was beige.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Part of the problem was that I didn\u2019t know how to cook. Meal prep involved either a drive-thru window or a can opener, with a bag of microwave popcorn on the side. Life was bland – well-salted and shelf stable \u2013 but bland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This is the story of how my kitchen changed, from bland and beige, to spicy and colorful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It all began when I met the man of my dreams – a tall, red-headed construction worker who made me laugh and liked to read. We made plans: we\u2019d marry and have kids; I\u2019d stay home while they were young. Life would be perfect. But first, I needed to learn how to cook (in fairness, my husband already knew how to cook \u2013 it\u2019s how he romanced me).<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I started with meals from my childhood – \u201ccream of\u201d casseroles, (undercooked) bean soup with cornbread, soggy fried pork chops, big pots of collards, and mashed potatoes with gravy. The first time both the potatoes and the gravy were lump-free, I thought I can cook!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But the recipe I most wanted to make was my great-grandmother\u2019s anchovy pizza.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My great-grandmother was from Sicily. My dad says that when he was a child, she had a pizza drawer in her kitchen. The grandkids would come over, open the drawer, and ta-da! Pizza! It was probably the warming compartment of an old stove, but still – a pizza drawer. It\u2019s the stuff that childhood fantasies are made of; I\u2019d always wanted to make that pizza.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So, I drove to Maryland, to visit my grandmother and learn about yeast dough. She made pizza like her mother did – kneading the dough, letting it rise, then dividing it into two rectangular pans. She pushed anchovies into the dough and smeared their oil on top – followed by tomato sauce, parmesan, and basil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After the first successful pizza (I added pepperoni, mozzarella, and spinach), I thought now I can really cook. I moved on to grandma\u2019s yeast rolls, eggplant parmesan, lasagna, manicotti, and layered bell pepper casserole. I\u2019d discovered basil, oregano, olive oil, and, of course, anchovies. I\u2019d discovered slow-simmered tomato sauces; my kitchen was the colors of an Italian flag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Until my step-sister married an Indian man. My husband and I came to visit, and she made butter chicken for dinner. It was a flavor revelation. Sure, I was pregnant and eating for twenty at the time, but it was also just that good. I begged her to teach me, and she did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was a whole new world of flavor \u2013 did you know there\u2019s more than one kind of curry powder? Indian cooking painted my kitchen yellow, green, and rosewood red. It\u2019s not just curry, either \u2013 there are other spice blends just as complex and impossible to live without, like garam masala. It\u2019s in rajma, the Indian version of red beans and rice; you\u2019ll also find it sprinkled on my bowl of popcorn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My step-sister opened my eyes to flatbreads, too \u2013 they\u2019re so quick to make, you can throw them together in less than thirty minutes and cook them to order on the stovetop. I wonder if my great-grandmother knew about flatbreads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now I had it all \u2013 Southern, Italian, and Indian cuisine. My kitchen was complete. Until my dad married a lovely lady from Nigeria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first time she cooked for me, she prepared a stew that made me want to marry her, too. She\u2019s made it many times since, varying the meat \u2013 sometimes it\u2019s fish, sometimes it\u2019s chicken gizzards, beef ribs, or turkey necks. Sometimes, I don\u2019t ask. She serves that stew with fried plantains, jollof rice, and black-eyed peas pureed with coconut milk. She encourages me to take a second helping, a third, a fourth, to take some home for later. From my stepmother, I learned to always make enough extra to send home with guests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She also taught me to blend my own seasoning pastes with fresh ingredients. The pastes are poured into a pan of hot oil to pop and simmer. The scents of ginger, garlic, and onion fill my once-bland kitchen. Their colors are pale yellow, turning to golden brown and bubbly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My kitchen is no longer beige \u2013 it\u2019s a colorful melting pot of spices, recipes, and family. I\u2019ve learned to cook, I\u2019ve learned to listen, and I\u2019ve learned that food brings us together. That education has been delicious.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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