We should have known on our honeymoon, when Caroline hopped out of our infinity pool in Costa Rica to open another bottle of wine, that our kitchen wouldn’t always be a happy, peaceful place. After working several minutes to uncork the mischevious bottle to no avail, she reluctantly called me over. “Um, it won’t open. The cork will spin and spin and then… no wine.” I looked her up and down. Looked the bottle up and down. Reached over, grabbed it, and swiftly unscrewed the cap and poured our glasses. “Oh,” she murmured, looking almost defeated. “Well, I love you! Lalala”
When we arrived home, our dynamic was much the same. I receive pictures regularly of knives stuck in assorted produce or questions about what can be substituted for what. While I like to communicate with “Behind” or “Sharp” while co-creating in the kitchen, she’s as likely to yell out “Penis!” or “Boobs” and break a bottle of truffle oil on the floor. This kitchen we run is oftentimes chaotic, oftentimes tense, but mostly creative, savory, rustic and, most importantly, ours.
Welcome to Happily Wed, Happily Fed. A story of David, Caroline and Food. With a capital F.