CHAPTER 1

Spring Flings

Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned, Where all the ruddy familyaround ...

—Oliver Goldsmith

Other People's Kitchens

I love to travel for pleasure and need to travel for work, but I've spent enoughtime in hotel rooms. That's why, if I plan to be in an area for a week or more,I rent a place with a kitchen. Nothing relaxes me more after a hard day's workor a long day of sightseeing than to putter around a kitchen creating awonderful meal.

I once rented a house in Norfolk, England, because it was called "The MustardPot" and was shaped like a condiment container. The house was on an estate, anddelightful. In addition to a large, fully equipped kitchen, there was a glassed-inporch. The estate called it "The Conservatory." No matter how rainy anddreadful the weather proved to be, there was a glorious sunset visible from thatroom. A small dining table and chairs enabled us to eat all our meals and drinkour wine overlooking the beautiful fields as the colors changed from pastel tosaturated to the velvet tones of night.

In Cornwall, the large farmhouse kitchen was a welcome refuge from traffic lanesthat were little more than trails, with room for only one car at a time andhedges so tall one couldn't see past them. A simple trip to the pub or the newsagent's was enough to send me scurrying back to the warmth of the large oaktable and the nested metal mixing bowls. I was perfectly happy to stay in thekitchen. The long, narrow, well-equipped kitchen at Culzean Castle in Scotlandgave me the view over the cliffs toward Arran and Ireland through narrow,sparkling windows while rabbits scurried and pheasants strolled under the windowin the warm May sunshine. Cape Cod kitchens retained the pungent sea odors as Isautéed scallops or unwrapped fried clam strips. Suburban kitchens reeked ofLemon Pledge and Mr. Clean, while city kitchens often retained the aromas ofChinese takeout and Mexican salsa.

I venture into the kitchen at parties, offering to help prepare food. I wanderin and attack the pile of dishes that accumulate in the sink. Parties aredifficult for a shy person. But in the kitchen, I can participate in anactivity, and it makes it easier for me to converse with strangers. "'Can youhelp me find the dishwashing liquid?" is easier for me to say than, "I hear Nobuis still hot."

Time spent in a kitchen makes me feel included in the life of the community. I'ma participant instead of an onlooker. I can see, smell, taste, feel, and hearthe nurturing, nourishing aspects of the time and space I inhabit. That gives mean awareness and appreciation for the world around me. Kitchens make thepersonal universal and the universal personal. My own hearth is the heart of myhome. Other people's kitchens allow me to honor their hearts and hearths.

—Christiane Van de Velde

Some people like to paint pictures, or do gardening, or build a boat in thebasement. Other people get a tremendous pleasure out of the kitchen, becausecooking is just as creative and imaginative an activity as drawing, or woodcarving, or music.

—Julia Child

Easy Spring Decorating

• Brighten up your kitchen table with a new look—a piece of oilcloth in a brightfloral pattern or a few yards of gingham, both available at fabric stores. Ortry a flat single bed sheet.

• Buy a flat of wheatgrass at the health food store and place it in the center ofthe table for a patch of green in early spring when you are despairing of winterever ending.

• Bring in a budding branch—forsythia, pussy willows, plum, even a foliage onesuch as locust or maple. Cut the stem on the diagonal, place in a vase of warmwater, and put on the kitchen table.

• Make a spring herb basket to place in a sunny kitchen window. All you need is awicker basket, florist's foil, and some small pots of herbs such as basil,oregano, thyme, or chives. Line the basket with foil. Arrange the pots. Snip theherbs with scissors to use.

Mom's Meat Loaf

My mother was known for her meat loaf. Oh, she mastered the art of cookinggourmet dishes as well—always expanding her repertoire, always learning newrecipes, she was the master of all that she attempted, and she seldom suffered akitchen disaster. But, back in my growing-up years, she had not yet essayed thecomplex or esoteric dishes she learned to cook later in life. What she knew, andknew well, was how to make simple foods taste good. She never failed at any ofthem, from roast chicken to broiled fish.

In my mother's hands, meat loaf was a company dish. I don't know if it was herrecipe or her preparation. I believe it was both. I also believe that in part itwas her use of herbs, at a time (the 1950s) when herbs were not a part of everyhome cook's arsenal, as they are now.

My best friend, a boy (but that's another story), begged for meat loaf wheneverhe was invited to dinner. I begged for it pretty often myself. My dad scarfed itdown whenever we were fortunate enough that my mom made meat loaf for dinner.And the mere smell of it in the oven was enough to make us salivate worse thanall of Pavlov's dogs put together.

Even as an adult, when I was asked to have dinner at my mom's house, I hoped itwas going to be meat loaf.

Now, here's the funny thing: I'm a pretty darn good cook myself, but darned if Ican master my mother's meat loaf. I tried it following her recipe. I tried itfollowing her method without being a slave to amounts. Only once did I comeclose. And that, I must admit, was a fluke. I couldn't repeat the results in aplethora of tries. I finally decided to give up, admit defeat, and look at itphilosophically: My mother's meat loaf was just one more treat—beyond being inher company—to look forward to when we had dinner together at her house. And so,years ago, I gave up trying to duplicate her results.

My mother died a month ago. I don't have her meat loaf recipe, but I do know hermethod. And one of these days—soon!—I mean to try to make "Meat Loaf à la Mom"again. Maybe this time I can get it right. If it tastes anything like hers, I'mlikely to cry as I chew. Sadness will do that to you. But born of the sadnessthere will be a great degree of pleasure, as well, as I remember my mother andher famous meat loaf. Everyone loved my mother's meat loaf ... and everyone lovedmy mother. What a tribute if I can finally learn to master that one elusiverecipe I never could quite get right.

It's time.

—Cynthia MacGregor

Food is the most primitive form of comfort.

—Sheila Graham

Yvonne's Herbed Meat Loaf

Cynthia did figure out her mom's recipe. If doubling, she says, form two loavesrather than one huge one. "If there are any leftovers (unlikely!), this is greatcold the next day for lunch."

1 slice white bread, crumbed
¾ cup tomato juice plus scant ½ cup tomato juice
2 large or 3 medium cloves garlic,...