Domestic Bliss: It's a someday thing.

I've always assumed that someday I will find myself living in a modest apartment with a lovely significant other, with my own little kitchen. The cabinets will not be overflowing with useless outdated canned goods in the style of my mother, and there will be no frozen vegetables. I'll do my grocery shopping in small doses, at least every other day, use fresh produce and make my own sauces. Or at least tweak the canned ones. There will be a little window over the sink, and a window box outside of that with fresh herbs that I can just reach out and grab. The dishcloths and napkins will match. Everything is painted in fresh white with shiny red or turquoise trim and knobs. I will never have excessive amounts of cutlery messing up the drawers. I will have gingham cabinet liners.

And when my lurver comes home after a long, tiring work day, I'll have a dinner set out that will rock his world. On the weekends he can try his hand at the stove and make something special for me. Other than that, I want my kitchen to be like my own private art studio...a place where mystery and miracles happen. I want to develop mind-blowing cookie recipes and leave them as secret unexpected presents wrapped in colored tissue in my neighbors mailboxes.

But now, I'm 27 and surviving off of lean cuisines. That, and the rushed meals I eat alone at work. Which are good. But when was the last time I sat down and shared a meal with someone? I can't really remember.
I think a big part of this kitchen dream comes from my experience overseas. I was raised in a house where every other night was "fend-for-yourself-night", eating spagettios and pbj sandwiches. I actually remember using tap water once as a substitute for milk in my cereal when I was little, because the gallon of milk was too heavy for me to pour and nobody was around to help. It was Fruity Pebbles, to be exact.
So when I went to Japan, I was instantly fascinated by the woman's role in the kitchen. It did not strike me as subservient or inferior in any way. Every dinner made in a Japanese household seems to bring the entire family together, no matter how busy or preoccupied they may be (and trust me, they are a busy people...) The meal is always balanced, healthy, satisfying and relaxing. Nothing comes from a can, nothing is ever frozen. It is all created from effort and skill. I had never experienced such a thing.
While on many levels the Japanese Housewife is a painful blemish on the face of modern feminism, there is a different side. A side in which these women are able to keep an exceedingly preoccupied family coming home every night, to enjoy an honest-to-god home cooked meal together. Without these women, family would not exist in Japan. And family is a big deal over there, by the way...
Anyway, tonight I've broken out my recipe binder, and I'm finally going to start filling out pages in preparation for that someday when I'll have someone to share all of these kitchen dreams with. Let's face it. Sharing food is just nice.