I would sit on the kitchen counter next to the open fireplace in the kitchen and watch her stir, knead and chop. It was to me a symphony of elegant movements, sounds, aromas and anticipation. She’d let me crack and egg and hand me a spoon to taste, but I wasn’t that interested in learning her ways of cooking, my eyes was on the end prize, when we’d all gather around the French oak table in the kitchen and eat together.
It wasn’t until years later when I studied at the university and lived abroad in Italy, Malta, Japan and America, that I put on an apron in a time of need, to recreate these comforting and soothing dishes of my childhood.
I was a student, far away from my mother’s kitchen, longing for the familiar, missing her voice, her food and home.
In handwritten letters carrying a stamp from the post office on our little fjord island in Norway, she’d share her recipes with me. Familiar dishes of sour cream porridge, slow baked pork belly on the bone, rutabaga mash, and creamy cabbage stew with pepper and nutmeg.
Years later, with the university years behind me, I stood alone in the cold fog with a old suitcase bursting in the seams, on a small train station in the English countryside. It was mid November and the cold winter air made it all seem a bit grim.
This is where it all ended and yet this is where it all began.
Little did I know that three years to the dot of my arrival at this small quiet village, my debut cookbook would be available for sale in every major bookstore in both England, America, Canada, New Zealand and Australia, and online on @amazon .
Ever since my English countryside chapter began I’ve wanted to share more with you from my life here, and this is as good a year as any, beginning with a little cookbook trailer launching just in time for Spring! Some things are better late than never, and I’m so looking forward to sharing more from our cottage, how I cook, the landscape in which I forage and get my produce, a peak into the world of my debut cookbook “The Cottage Kitchen” that hit the shelves a bit over a year ago while I was heavily pregnant with our daughter Emma, and to share more recipes from my mother’s letters with you.