The kitchen has always been my compass—a sacred space where ritual and routine merge into pure creativity. At six years old, I could be found experimenting with unlikely combinations of shaving cream and flour, inspired by the Barefoot Contessa, but not knowing what sour cream is and finding a replacement that seemed suitable. My early culinary adventures often ended with surprised screams when family members discovered my inedible masterpieces in the refrigerator. Lesson learned: shaving cream doesn't belong in food, but the pantry could still be my wonderland. This childhood passion blossomed into a professional calling, and I became a trained chef. Surprisingly, after graduation, everyone I knew seemingly forgot how to cook. I'd effortlessly prepare meals just as I did when I was young, feeling that familiar sense of accomplishment and confidence. While I cherish the smiles my food brings to others, I've learned to protect what the kitchen truly means to me: freedom. The skills I honed in culinary school—particularly with a knife—gave voice to my energy. "Tonight it's my cooking spa, no appointments available" became my mantra, a gentle boundary-setting phrase that rolled off my tongue naturally. Just as we respect someone's space for online workouts, meditation, or important calls, the kitchen deserves that same reverence. When it's my time, I put on "She's a Rainbow" from my Kitchen Playlist and pull cubed beef chuck from the refrigerator with no recipe in mind. An hour later, after scaling cabinet heights for various spices and ingredients, a glossy, aromatic stew emerges. It's culinary magic—nothing measured, onions perfectly sliced, mise en place making cleanup a breeze. The fragrant onions fill the room as I dance while using a tube key to extract every last bit of tomato paste. Salt, taste, a dash of acid, maybe a touch of butter for richness... one final taste before plating. That first bite transports me elsewhere—fully present in the moment, savoring the culmination of my creativity. All those carefully combined ingredients echo the song's lyrics: "Coming, colors in the air. Oh, everywhere." Of course I love the dance of the kitchen too, you know when everyone is crammed together and you dance around each other to participate in the fun. Singing into wooden spoons while someone stirs something to the tune of the kitchen. If you have never experienced this joy, you are in the right spot. Whether you are cooking alone and learning new skills, want to join a community of the cooking curious, or just need some advice or company like a recipe, we are here to inspire each other. No appointments needed—welcome to the Cooking Spa.
