The Outdoor Kitchen, An Exposé

The other day, the German was telling me about our friends who are expecting a baby this summer and just rented a new apartment in Germany.  When describing the great deal they got, he included that "the kitchen is in".

"Oh wow!  That is awesome!  That is going to make things so much easier for them when the baby is here.  They can be cooking while the baby naps, and get snacks after dark without getting eaten up by mosquitoes."  The German stopped me and clarified that he meant the appliances were included.  It was Germany.  Of course the kitchen is INSIDE.  Oh yeah.  Duh.  I forget this.

Because my kitchen is in my yard.

Anyone who knows me has heard me say this phrase... A LOT.  It is like my special forces badge I mentally tack on to my credentials.  "Ecologist and creative mother of two wild, free range toddlers, raising her children to speak three languages in Africa...and her kitchen is in her yard."

In my less gracious moments, it is phrase I use to one up my woe is me complaints.

"I know what you mean, it is so hard to make a dinner everyone will eat when the kids are hungry and crying and asking to be held but you are trying not to take shortcuts so the food is as healthy as possible...and plus my kitchen is in my yard."

"Bleh, rainy season, when you track mud everywhere and have to walk through calf deep water to get to you car...or your kitchen.  Because my kitchen is in my yard!"

"Hot season.  Man I miss America with it's central air where I didn't sweat the whole time I cooked.  And I wasn't outside.  Because now my kitchen is in my f-ing yard!"

It works it's way into most arguments between the German and I, and to be honest most of our arguments tend to be about whether or not we should move.  He loves our house and doesn't see a need to move, which makes sense because he doesn't cook.  In the yard.  But I even sneak it in places where it doesn't belong.  It is my equivalent of dropping the mic and walking off stage at the end of any disagreement.  "Baby, I'm sorry you had a rough day and spent hours in traffic and got puked on by our kid and stepped in dog (you hope) shit on the part of the street that should be a sidewalk if we lived in a country with sidewalks.  I did all that today too.  Then I came home and made us dinner.  In the yard. BECAUSE THE KITCHEN IS IN THE YARD."

But if I'm being honest, truly honest, there are days when I love my kitchen.  Usually these are days when Bean and Sprout are on my last nerve and I can pass the reins to the German, and retreat to my kitchen in the yard.  Sometimes I play the music my mom always played while cooking (The italian hippy mix including Rod Stewart, Janis Joplin and Frank Sinatra) , my phone propped on the window sill to pick up the neighbor's wifi, and dance around with a glass of wine while cooking an old family recipe.  And sometimes I make something that only takes 10 minutes, and I spend the rest of the time sitting on the floor, reading the news and drinking my wine from a measuring cup because there is no way in hell I'm risking going back into the house of crazy to fetch a real glass.  Like a good friend of equally wild toddlers, sometimes that kitchen keeps me sane.

If the German ever asks you, yes, it does take over an hour to make a quiche.