On Sunday afternoons, many of my male friends will retreat to their “man caves.” I’ve written before about these enigmatic places — spare rooms, basements, converted garages where a guy can steal away to play computer games or smoke a joint or read, I guess. I don’t know what happens in man caves, I’ve never actually been in one. In my imagination they are dark and smell of tobacco and dust.
The kitchen serves a similar purpose in my life. When I’m cooking, it’s a space — both mentally and physically — I can withdraw to, focus and engage in my craft. Except unlike a man-cave, there’s no locked door, no barrier to entry for my wife or kids. More
skinny girls & mayonnaise 