Expectations vs. Reality

I'm one of those people who will laugh out loud when Fred and George offer to send their little sister a toilet seat, or tear up unconsciously when Moreta risks herself to save the entire planet of Pern. Books come alive to me, thanks to a (sometimes overly) vivid imagination. But what is a boon in reading and impromptu story-telling takes its toll when it comes to other scenarios, like going on vacations or receiving mail. My expectations do sometimes occasionally every so often run rampant. A dropped box of cereal at the grocery store becomes the "meet cute" opening to a romcom blockbuster. A friend's birthday party becomes the beginning of a zombie apocalypse. And my boyfriend's "efficiency-style" university apartment becomes a utopian culinary creation zone.

The fridge will be stocked to the brim with fresh veggies and fruit, high-quality cuts of meat for dinner parties, condiments for every type of cuisine imaginable, and lots of freezer burritos. LOTS.

With this combination of resources, I will cook delicious, healthy meals at least every couple of days, and eat the leftovers in between. Oh, nothing too fancy, of course. I'm nothing if not realistic. Maybe some (non-dairy*) fettuccini carbonara, some onion rings, fresh bread, a starter of stuffed mushrooms followed by poached salmon with a hollandaise sauce followed by chocolate souffle and raspberry whipped cream… anyway. At any rate, my ratios of veggie/fruit/protein/starch would be strictly textbook (thank you USDA).

However, I know that expectations of situations are rarely met. This isn't always a bad thing - I already have my tall, dark, and handsome, and he gets the cereal for me. I'm sure the rest of the guests at the party were glad that there was no imminent zombie attack (but the stockpile of plastic knives I had in my purse would have been easier to explain). But when it comes to an efficiency-style dorm kitchen… even halfway-met expectations would be an improvement from reality.

Don't get me wrong, having (essentially) my own kitchen again is amazing. But growing up with a kitchen according to my mom's standards effectively spoiled me for any other kitchens out there. Granite counter-tops are replaced by 3 square feet of laminate. An electric range with glass top gives way to crooked burners that I hope were originally this color. Cabinets for every pot, pan, and pancake griddle yield to bookshelves pressed into service as pantries. And much as I love cooking and baking with helpers, it gets a little crowded on those peeling parquet tiles.

The fridge is fairly well-stocked, thanks to grab-n-go meals from the campus greasy spoon and an almost-unlimited meal plan. Others with less of a penchant (and/or less time) for cooking, not so much. Christian's next-door neighbor/best friend Luke finished his senior year with his fridge containing the following: one bottle of good beer, a stick of butter, and a partial bottle of vodka that wouldn't fit in our other friend's freezer.

And the stick of butter was mine, leftover from an oatmeal raisin cookie extravaganza.

Finally, as much as I would have loved to cook more often, I am at college primarily for my education, not to eat. With the aforementioned meal plan, my normal cooking schedule was less of a schedule and more of a "I have two hours before ballroom rehearsal and that exam that was supposed to be tomorrow got moved to next week so let's see what's in the fridge to cook with." I cleaned up my act second semester while training for ballroom and my first half-marathon, but I will admit that I was initially ingesting a burger and fries several times a week. Not exactly healthy, regardless of the veggies and whole-wheat bun, but it's hard to beat free food.

Overall, while the initial reality was less than ideal, in the words of Tim Gunn, we "made it work." I expanded the counter space with the provided dresser, a cheapo bookshelf, and a piece of scrap MDF from my family's old Murphy-bed frame. My spices aren't alphabetized in their own drawer, but at least I have plenty, thanks to Mom. The small space forced me to get creative with storage options, too. The cabinets weren't much, but the extra bookshelf, a shower organizer on the wall, and some reshuffling meant that one of the built-ins was dedicated solely to baking supplies, while the other retired to a comfortable life as storage for the ever-present "miscellaneous." Mom's upgrades in the home kitchen meant excellent hand-me-downs in terms of cookware, and Christmas/my birthday brought my very own Kitchenaid stand mixer and Cuisinart food processor.

When I finally reined in my expectations and decided to work with what I had, it wasn't half-bad. Okay, maybe quarter-bad - the Great Roach Hunt of 2013 can be another post - but still better than nothing. And even with those limitations, I think the results were still pretty darn good.

*This will most likely be mentioned over and over, as Christian is my most frequent food recipient/fellow chef. He has an allergy to something or other protein in milk, which is different from my own (often-ignored) lactose intolerance. What this means is that the kitchen is often free of dairy interlopers like milk and butter and *tear* cream, although I normally have a packet or two of Easy Mac stashed behind the natural peanut butter. It also sometimes poses interesting challenges in food preparation, but we unfailingly rise to the occasion.