Reclaiming my kitchen

I'm becoming domestic.

Well. I'm becoming domestic. Again.

With a kitchen smaller than my twin bed and a singular countertop that is honestly smaller than my computer monitor at work, there hasn't been much room in the past year for my old cooking shenanigans-- whipping up a quick batch of chicken parmesan after work, making apple crisp just because I feel like it, baking six different kinds of Christmas cookies to hand out to my favorites during the holidays.

My last gourmet meal was chicken nuggets and tater tots.

No really. And even that's testing the confines of my kitchen.

With Seth's impending arrival (t-minus 60 hours and counting! but who's counting...) and the extended length of his visit (11 days) I'm feeling an added pressure to don my old Domestic Goddess tiara and prove to him that not only can I be witty, caring, spontaneous, and just plain old amusing-- but I can make a pretty mean meatloaf too.

Don't even try to tell me that the way to a man's heart isn't through his stomach. I know otherwise.

The grocery list is endless, my ideas for tasty treats and adventurous entrees keeping me up at night. Just what sort of recipe do you make for your boyfriend that's considered to be bringing your A-Game?

And even worse-- what if I've lost the magic touch when it comes to my three best friends-- paprika, chili powder and garlic salt. What if, after a year of being missing in action, they don't respond to my loving caress?

Stay tuned.