Guest Post-Kelly

Kelly and I have been friends since my first semester at BYU. I meet her in my Arabic 101 class and I instantly knew that I hit the jackpot when it came to a new friend.  She is energetic, a lover, a dreamer, and makes the best chocolate chip cookies I have ever tasted. I always went to her with my confessions and issues and we would talk it out over some delightful treat that she had baked. Kelly blogs about her struggles and triumphs as an ESL professor along with mouth watering posts about her new kitchen creations.


When Layla asked me to post for her, my first thought was of flattery- how nice that she thought I would write a good guest post! The next thought was one of panic- what on earth was I going to write about? And what if everyone thought my topic was dumb? What if I couldn’t come up with a good topic and Layla regrets ever asking me? What if, because of my terrible post, people stop reading her blog? So I started thinking. And thinking. And thinking.
I consider myself to be a bit eclectic…jack of all trades, master of none, that’s me. I love (with nearly equal passion) languages, English grammar (both of which, I’ve unfortunately discovered, most people don’t really like to discuss on blogs) hiking, classical music, gardening, reading, exercising, clothes, Irish dancing, food, and therefore cooking. And that is where I stopped. Cooking.
Cooking is my way to express myself. It’s like being an artist, except my weapon of choice is a paring knife rather than a paint brush. I love food. When I’m not eating, I’m thinking or dreaming about food. Grocery shopping is a pleasure; planning dinner is a delight.
My husband and I have a disagreement when it comes to food. He says he eats to survive. He appreciates good food, but really, to him cooking is more of a hassle than anything else. He’s just as happy eating cream of ________ casserole as boeuf bourguignon. Or so he claims. I, on the other hand, eat because I love food. I love the flavors, the textures, the smells. I love the process of making food. It doesn’t matter how long it takes or how complex the recipe is (I’ll confess- sometimes the harder the better). I just love being in the kitchen.
Some of my fondest memories of my childhood involve time spent in the kitchen. When I was a kid and my family was broke, my mom used to make everything from scratch: granola, bread, cookies, pie. You name it; she could whip up something delectable in a flash. I used to alternate my time outside romping around the field or climbing our apple trees with sitting at the kitchen counter helping my mom peel potatoes or shape loaves of bread.
I learned a lot from those days. I learned that the best cookies are always made with butter. I learned that you don’t really need to measure how much honey or molasses to go into wheat bread, but you probably should measure the yeast. I learned that you should handle pie crust as little as possible or it will become tough. I learned which apples make the best pie, best cider, and which are best for munching. And I learned that if you really love someone, you feed them.
And so, if you ever have a problem or are feeling down, I will probably try to feed you. If you come over to visit (especially if you time it right), I’ll insist you stay for dinner. Or at least for dessert. And if you’re lucky, I’ll be in the middle of making something fantastic. Like gingered pear and apple cobbler. Or Thai red curry. Or caramel apples, with caramel freshly made from the perfect blend of cream and honey. Or chicken corn chowder. Or hot whole wheat bread….