When I decided that I was going to marry Deb, my prospective father-in-law took me to one side, handed me a bourbon* and shared with me his rules for a long and happy marriage. Chief among these rules was Rule Three, which was, “if in doubt, say ‘yes dear'”.
Good advice and, as we approach our first Second Anniversary (long story, don’t ask), so far highly successful.
So when Deb insisted, on pain of pain, that I actually start writing about the Transatlantic Kitchen, I figured it was best to apply Rule Three, say ‘yes dear’ and make a start on explaining about my kitchen, my food, and the pleasure it brings.
The Transatlantic Kitchen is my ‘happy place,’ a refuge. It’s where I get away from long working hours and nights away from home. It’s a place where all that matters is concentrating on what I’m doing, where the stresses melt away and are replaced by the zing of citrus on the tongue and the scent of garlic in the air. The Transatlantic Kitchen was one of the biggest reasons we bought Transatlantic Towers; it’s big enough to be a social space, is well laid-out and has plenty of working room for an experimental cook to spend many happy hours fiddling with his dishes and massaging his meat.
garlic features heavily at Transatlantic Kitchen
Facebook followers will know that Transatlantic Kitchen is open mostly at weekends, when I’ll spend whole days prepping, marinating and experimenting to fill the fridge and freezer for the coming week**, as well as providing the meals for the whole family (Deb, Sprog and I) during the weekend itself. And I adore it. It’s a passion bordering on obsession – not to primp and fuss and produce esoteric artworks that wouldn’t be out of place at ‘El Bulli’, but to make good food from all over the world, strong on flavour and taste while working on a reasonably low budget and minimising waste. Oh, and taking ENDLESS photographs of what I make, to make me smile when I can’t be at home at the stove.
Eating is pleasure. Making something to eat should be too. For me at least, slaving over a hot stove feels more like freedom than servitude.
So I shall follow orders, and write about Transatlantic Kitchen. I’ll try and detail the recipes that come out of the Kitchen regularly (harder than it sounds, as I cook by touch and instinct and tend to forget to write anything down). I’ll try and describe what I’ve learned from almost twenty years of faffing about with food, what works for my pantry and, most of all, how much sheer joy there is in just messing about with food. I’ll also try to cover what works for us with pre-preparation (and no, I don’t plan meals a week ahead) and hopefully Deb can cover the science and research bit. I’m no good at that bit – I just never grew out of playing with my food.
I’ve promised Deb that I’ll post weekly, and I hope that reading about the food that comes out of Transatlantic Kitchen is as much of a sensory pleasure as making it can be.
*Several bourbons, actually. Large ones. I’ll spare you the details – those who know the gentleman know what I mean.
**Or month. As of today, there are 19 fully pre-prepared dishes sitting in the freezer.