I was never a fan of cooking shows, particularly. Top Chef, yes, but that was more about what someone else might make me, more about eating in restaurants than about anything that would ever be possible at home. Now, I can't get enough of the Great British Baking Show, of all things. Last week, I had lunch with a SeaStar employee who ordered the fish and chips, saying that she had just heard that they are about to wrap up the halibut season, and she wanted to have it while she could. Tomorrow night is a downtown night, going to see Gloria Steinem with Jenn, dinner beforehand at Locosho. Even with halibut on the menu, I don't feel that excited about a restaurant meal.

What is much more exciting is the surprise of having counters again. Not in a state I can use, obviously, but I hadn't known they would be there when I climbed the ladder up to the back door and opened the horrible hollow core door that is currently standing in for the beautiful new one that waits in my garage for the day when its turn to be installed comes. It was such a nice surprise to see the cabinets, blue painter's tape standing in for handles, and the new pantry, and all the nice solid trim around the freshly painted new windows. I bought such very nice windows. The kitchen will be a new world this winter, all windows and wide open views towards the field where the birds migrate in heavy, loud flocks. Inside the house, you know if there's an eagle in the yard from the sounds, and now the sight will be easier to catch too.

But what I really want is to just make a cup of tea again. To go back to roasting vegetables for dinner and eating them from my own bowl, and then stand at my new windows and wash the dishes in my new sink. I've started bookmarking recipes again and suddenly baking seems interesting, which is ridiculous, given my issues with timing, but there was a little stretch there when my kitchen always had a batch of granola, homemade by me, so, maybe. Hard to believe that ever happened. I barely even make cheese toast any more.