Cooking

It happened the way it often does with love. You don't have any idea until one day, one moment and you just know. I used to think it only happened like that with people but apparently not. Apparently you can not realise how much you love doing something until suddenly, you do. It's pleasantly surprising to learn about a part of you that you didn't realise was there.

It's not like it's a job or even a hobby particularly. I'm not a chef and I definitely don't have some kind of special talent. I've just slowly learnt that I love to cook.

I love being in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and working away. I like chopping vegetables and waiting for their smell to fill the kitchen. I love mashing and bashing and mixing things up.

There's a quiet pride in opening the oven and finding delicious looking food and knowing that you made it. Your effort made that happen.

I'm learning that I find peace in the kitchen. I've gone from shoving frozen foods in to the oven to making lasagnas, pasta sauces and a whole range of simple meals for one. I fall into a rhythm in the kitchen, a rhythm I didn't know I knew how to follow.

I find myself daydreaming of the kitchen I want to have in the future. I daydream that I'll have added to my already growing collection of recipes books and that they will line the shelves behind my table. I imagine having Welsh cookbooks to be able to make traditional Welsh food, even if I'm no longer living in the country I know of as home.

I imagine light and space and a colourful apron hanging up behind the door. I want my kitchen to be the heart of my home, a space of warmth and colour and love.

I want my home to be filled with the smells of food cooking and I want the food I make to bring comfort to the people I love.