On vacation, I try to be on vacation. I always give my husband the stink eye when he’s checking email on his phone. If he tells me he has a quick conference call I can feel my hear drop like an old elevator in my chest but I smile and shrug. He’s gotten much better over the years and has slowly learned that vacations are so much more effective if you actually take them to their fullest. Yet, here I am in the kitchen on vacation and I’m doing a little work.
I’m developing my first recipe. I mean, not exactly because I guess I make up recipes all the time in my own kitchen, but I don’t write them down. It’s the writing them down that makes it so different. I’m paying attention to every additional pinch of salt or 1/2 tsp of cinnamon. It’s actually fun. I feel like a kid again sitting on the sidewalk with the neighbourhood kids making “salad” out of the inside of the helicopters that fall from the maple trees and buds of various grasses that would pop up between the sidewalk cracks.
So as I work. I am also playing. As I’m playing in the kitchen, the kids are enjoying the stretched out morning hours after a nice breakfast of eggs and Montreal bagels and a Quebec strawberry smoothie, playing cards on the rug. Playing as the sounds from the kitchen, and the click from the camera, and the smells of cinnamon waft from the oven around them.