Realizing that this work-from-home situation isn’t going to change anytime soon, I’ve started establishing various work “zones” in our (barely) one-bedroom apartment. In the morning, I’m on the couch. Around lunch, I switch to the kitchen table. And, whenever I need to take a call, I take it standing at my tallboy dresser. I have found myself blending my work hours into the night without realizing it, since I no longer have that clear separation when I walk home from the studio, so I’m trying to make concerted effort to close my laptop at a reasonable time and start dinner before I get too hungry.
Last night was the first time I cooked one of my more complex recipes entirely by memory. I’m typically glued to the recipe for exact measurements and times, but I felt like winging it. I was also a lot more generous with ingredients, which panned out because Jen said it was the best it’s ever been. Now that food and cooking is such a central part of our lives, I truly feel joy in knowing that we have leftovers that will last us. I love cooking, but I also love not needing to think about food.