I have a confession to make. I had never tasted a lychee until yesterday afternoon. I had always assumed that I eventually would and most likely would very much enjoy the experience but it wasn’t until yesterday that I took the plunge. Yesterday, I found myself desperately in need of some iron in the form of a nice, thick steak and so I accompanied a friend to the grocery store. There I was prompted to try a lychee for the very first time and try I did. It was not what I expected, better, but also quite different. The rough outer layer peeled away easily to reveal a light, juicy inside with a delicate but distinctive flavour. And so it was that I found myself sitting on a filthy curb in the parking lot of a supermarket, sucking every last bit of lychee left around the long dark pit.
I fully intend to repeat the experience.
It reminded me of another aspect of my imaginary adult kitchen which will be a lovely three-tiered hanging fruit basket, the top of which I may have to devote entirely to lychee.
I like to imagine what the kitchen of my grown up self will contain. And then I like to gather those things so that I have them when the time comes that I don’t live in a student apartment with a revolving door of roommates, each with their own home decorating tastes. These treasures, be they wine goblets, tea trays or a set of vintage egg cups that are proudly displayed on a wooden shelf are not things I own presently but instead they are things that I will own (maybe) someday. My kitchen will be eclectic and functional. I think about my grown up kitchen a lot.
Especially after browsing in stores like Le Chat Noir, a fantastic little antique store on a side street in Guelph. This place prioritizes the kitchen when selecting its curiosities and for that I am grateful. Sadly though, in the name of spending very little money, I left Le Chat Noir yesterday totally empty handed and was forced to scour the internet while dreaming about potential kitchen purchases. I found some lovely things.
a pair of vintage teak lunch trays
vintage egg cups
vintage enamelware lobster pot
vintage pewter pitcher
vintage steak knives
vintage baking set
I adore my kitchen.
Not its structure, per say, because having a window or two would have been nice. Nor its size, as the kitchen is unchallenged as the smallest room in my apartment; totally dwarfed by even the bathroom. And it’s really not about the basic appliances either. I covet the gas stove of my last apartment and the fridge is nothing to write home about.
But there is something to be said for a space feeling very much my territory.
After spending a week at home for winter break, a large portion of that spent in my mother’s spacious kitchen filled with natural light, counter space, and herbs growing in front of windows, I am somehow in a better position to appreciate my own humble apartment kitchen.
While I share the kitchen space with two lovely roommates, I am probably the only person who would count it as my favourite room. And so it was that I happily returned to my carefully stocked pantry, our impressive collection of teas, my cast iron skillet, and my apron hanging where I had left it on the wall.
And while I was happy to be reunited with kitchen, this was not a night for baking complicated bread or making enough soup to provide my lunches for the week. Instead, it was a night for pizza with pesto and prosciutto, a heaping green salad, and a bottle of chilled rose wine shared with a boy.