As much as I loved summering in Florida, visiting friends and family, it’s nice to be home again. Whenever I travel, especially for long stretches, I start to yearn for my kitchen. A kitchen is a very intimate space and the objects and ingredients within a kitchen tell a story. This summer I was in a kitchen devoid of personality—a hotel kitchen. Alas, no hanging pots and pans, no piles of randomly stacked cooked books, no handwritten notes, no jars of spices from far reaches of the world, and no stashed away goodies for late night snacking.
