Home is Where the Hearth Is
(and All You Need Is a Little Lovage)

'But it's on the top floor of a brownstone in a great area of Brooklyn.'

'I'm staring at a photo of you holding a rolling pin...'

Sigh.

I knew my mom was right.

Plus, it's not like the apartment is cheap, and as Mrs. O had said I haven't seen much... only three places:

• A 'garden apartment' in a dumpy building in South Park Slope with missing stairs out the back door, which looks, not upon a garden but at a driveway with a car and a concrete square with a patio table and chairs

• A small 'one bedroom' (i.e., two rooms with French doors in the middle) with no closets in an area too close to the borders of Stabbytown for comfort. (BTW, Stabbytown is a handily borrowed phrase from CK via VS!)
  

• A lovely renovated brownstone apartment owned by a great family on a historic block in Fort Greene. I fell in love with the neighborhood, and the apartment is on the top floor (no upstairs noise!). It even had an old bricked in fireplace mantle with a mirror on the wall above (love that!). But there was no real kitchen. The stove, sink and fridge were nestled together like kittens in a snowstorm along one wall. No counter, no space for a drainboard... no cupboards for all the liquor bottles... And, I don't think you could stand at the stove and have someone walk in the front door at the same time.
  

I know, I know. I am a gastronomer. My mom is right, Mrs. O is right, EB and LB too, though LB did say there are plenty of books about making small spaces work. My life would be incomplete without ample room for cooking and cocktail shaking.

But, there's this thing that happens when you start looking for an apartment in NYC. You panic that you might not find the perfect place in time, and you become delusional about making an inappropriate space work. You weigh the pros and cons and you start to let go of your ideals.

For example, nice kitchen is the first thing on the list residing under my pillow (a suggestion by a wacky artist friend who happens to have a fabulous place to live... a little mysticism never hurts, especially in the NY real estate market). But what happens? The first not-crazy apartment I'm shown, and I get all hot and bothered and ready to ditch the kitchen.

I was actually pondering. Yes! Pondering life without space for gastronomy. Of course, it was restless pondering. And, there is only one thing to be done when the mind is churning topsy turvy with a weighty decision. Well two, actually. Take a long walk or cook.

So, into the kitchen I went. I chopped green garlic and threw it into a pan with water and salt. Then I took my knife to the Swiss chard which I sauteed with broccoli, balsamic vinegar and Essence. Once the green garlic was soft I pureed it with olives and sun dried tomatoes. I then minced lovage, grated smoked gouda and crumbled feta.

All the while I sipped Campari with seltzer and a few lovage leaves.

The lovage I bought from Keith's Farm at the Greenmarket in Union Square simply because I had never had it before. It has a very strong celery flavor, and a little goes a long way! But the neat thing is, you can use the stems as straws in drinks. I tried this with the Campari fizz, and it was quite functional, though too strong on the flavor for my taste.

Anyway, I threw everything onto a whole wheat pizza crust, and the mishmash farmer's market pizza went into the oven. I set about writing the blog, promptly lost track of time and overcooked it. At least no one else had to eat it, and I will say the pureed spread was quite interesting with the Gouda.

The cooking experience made me realize, however, there is no way in hell I can make a kitchen-less apartment work. I thought about how much I might miss my current kitchen while I opened the drawer to pull out foil to wrap up the pizza. My scream drowned out any other thoughts, and my reflexes kicked in while in a Buffy move, I grabbed the Raid, sprayed to kill and slammed the drawer shut without spilling a drop of wine.

And, that my friends, is why I absolutely have to move out of my apartment. Kitchen or no, I can't handle the roommates. But alas, I can't move into a new home without the space to cook. Whatever would I do the next time I have to contemplate a heady problem or simply just have lovage that needs to be spread about?

Wish me luck and stay tuned!