My kitchen - Dish by Dish

What does your kitchen mean to you?

For me, the kitchen is where relationships blossom.

Where knife sharpens knife, where chemistry transforms simple ingredients into elaborate foods and where life is mirrored in everyday dishes.

The kitchen is where things may not always be organized, but is always a place where the warmth of the stove’s fire and the aroma of baking cakes escape the oven, drawing the family, friends and the occasional stranger together.

It’s where we huddle together over mugs of coffee and tea during freezing cold winter nights, where we spill our secrets, design our desires and vent our frustrations. Its where tears are sometimes spilled, and sadness is exchanged for peace and joy.  After a long day’s work, the kitchen is the place where comfort, familiarity and love, is demonstrated through hugs, jokes, smiles, and the delicious stew brewing in the pot.

What does your kitchen mean to you?

It’s where we learn to calm down, to discard the hustle and bustle of life, gather our thoughts and listen to our hearts.

A kitchen is more than just a place to cook and combine ingredients; it is a cove of emotions, sentiments, and an incubator of conversations, of hushed whispers and booming laughter. It is a space which moulds our character and teaches us to be patient, to develop our understanding and focus our concentration.

The kitchens Ive had..

The shared kitchen in Mannheim was the place where I first started talking to Juan, as we each cooked our own dinners, making some version of small talk to fill the silence, and where we started to fall in love. It was there that a cultural exchange of ideas took place, and where we learnt to accept and embrace our differences. It was also a place to celebrate and enjoy birthday dinners with the fellow Hafenstrasse housemates, a place for farewells, and a place full of memories.

My granny’s kitchen in Singapore is small and tight, barely enough room for more than the round wooden table and the stove. But it is where we gather every Chinese New Year, over rounds of steamboat simmering with my granny’s homemade stock, with meat rolls dipped in chili sauce, washed down with a Coke and a refreshing beer. It is where my family is so busy eating and stuffing ourselves that we forget to speak, but there still is a feeling of warmth and love so strong. It is also where I hug my granny and tell her “thank you” and that I love her, and that moment is frozen forever in eternity.

My kitchen back at home in Nallur Road is where I used to eat my breakfast before heading to work, together with a box full of vitamins and an energy drink my mum prepared every single morning for me to take. It was where my friends and I gathered to cook and prepare drinks when they were over at my place, where we share secrets with each other, away from the ears of others. And it’s also where my mum rolls pineapple tarts every Chinese New Year, her hands sticky with dough and butter, but a smile ever-ready on her face when she sees me entering the kitchen.

My kitchen in Buenos Aires is where I find a sweet sensation of belonging, where I get perked up and energized to create dishes and try new recipes, the place we share discussions and conversations over dinner, or just joke about the day. Its where we sneak to after dinner to eat a spoonful of sinfully rich dulce de leche. hoping that if no one caught us, the calories wouldn too. It’s where we discuss the latest news, watch the nightly TV show, and eat, savoring every homemade morsel and bite, enjoying and delighting in each others precious company.

Always full of love, of warmth and of comfort.

That’s my kitchen to me.

What about yours?