Do you wear an apron when you cook? I don’t. I have one, but I have never bothered to take the time the put the damn thing on. Why? Why bother? I run into the kitchen after work and begin. There is no dawdling; no pondering the situation, no gazing into the depths of the deep, dark, refrigerator. And no measuring devices will ever taint one of my dishes. Let’s just get the job done! First you open the freezer and check out the meats, and if no meats are being sacrificed, then move on to the vegetable drawer. Easy, sauces, pots, pans, a little of this and that and, voilá, we have a meal!
I’ve been told that I cook the way I paint – with no patience. When I got married, my husband was aghast at how dirty the kitchen became when I cooked. I’m still not sure what he was complaining about. I mean, I always put my ingredients away after I use them. But preparation is like conducting an orchestra. Things splatter, pop, sizzle and fly across the room. I have stopped throwing the spaghetti against the wall to see if it’s done, mostly because our ceilings are really high in the kitchen.
My husband asked one day why I had so many clothes in my closet and why I felt the need to go shopping all the time when I’m not really a fashionista. I showed him by pulling out blouse after blouse and all my t-shirts, every single one of which had a stain on it. I’ve tried dry cleaning and pre-washes. Then I tried painting flowers, vines and trees over the stains, embroidering over them, and bleaching them. But when all of that fails, as it always does, off I go to the store to buy more clothes.
This is all to say that sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake. It all of a sudden occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, if I wore an apron while I was cooking (and maybe even while painting), I’d have fewer stains on my clothes. Perfectly logical and easily done, right?
Not so fast! Let me show you the results? This is a dramatization. Ok, it’s really a painting of the results. Honestly, I had on the damn apron and all I was doing was chopping dried ginger and cherries to put into my homemade chocolate bars. (Sounds good, doesn’t it? They are!)
I finished up and took off the apron. There, on my shirt, were several chopped cherries on the inside of the apron!! How, how, how did they get there? I swear I am the only one who could have done this kind of magic trick. And no, I wasn’t eating the cherries so that they dribbled down my front. If I had done that, then there would be ginger there too as well as some chocolate. The chocolate was all over my hands, sleeves and face, and maybe there was some in my hair. But, there was no chocolate on my shirt and, of course, there was none on the apron. Seriously, I could try to get this apron thing down, but you saw what happened. Shouldn’t I just continue in my Jackson Pollack style of cooking? What’s the worst that could happen? I might have to go to Macy’s every few weeks?