There’s not a day that goes by without me looking for or planning my next adventure, still savouring the last one. The world is my oyster and I explore it to my heart’s content. I leave home armed with nothing but a stuffed backpack, a plane ticket and a route in my head. When I’ve returned home, in between planning my next trip(s).
I go on different types of journeys. I find adventure in words, in sentences and in the imagination of others; I find it between the pages of a cookbook and in my (parents’) kitchen.
The herbs and spices call to me and the makings of a dish pop into my head. I can spend hours refining an idea before it makes it to the stove. And then the fun really starts, because when I do take it to the kitchen, I really go for it. The different flavours play around in my head, in the pots and pans and on my tongue when I taste, and taste, and taste the food over and over. There’s noise and chaos all around: I bang the pots, loudly sing along to my music, dance behind the stove, and curse if things don’t go the way I want them to. When I cook I do so exuberantly and I make the biggest mess. Then it all comes together and quiets down… the table is set and the plates are garnished. We take the first bite.
It’s good… usually – sometimes even delicious. For a moment it’s quiet. There’s no sound but that of the cutlery scraping the plates and then the comments roll in. Everyone is talking and enjoying themselves. And I wonder, what will be the thing that sets me off next time? Will it be some beautiful fresh produce, a memory of a different time and place or being on the road? Or might it be the other way around, will it be something that reminds me of home, of the comfort of friends and family? Whichever it will be, that familiar feeling is already creeping up on me. The whole process starts again. The herbs and spices call to me and the makings of a dish pop into my head. But now I’m not undertaking the journey alone, you’re coming with me.