Apron on

This morning, I returned from the market with fresh ingredients and plans for a weekend breakfast bowl. Out came the cutting board, my favorite knife, and the produce, ready to be sliced before I cracked the eggs. Somewhere along the way, without thinking about it, I had put on an apron.

I only noticed once I was already cooking. Such a familiar gesture, but one that allows me to settle into what I am doing. With that extra layer, I can worry less about the oil sizzling in the skillet or the juice escaping a pomegranate and give my attention to the food.

In the evening, the apron has another purpose. After a day in the studio, I don’t always change before starting dinner. Sometimes getting something into the pan takes priority. A glass of wine or a cocktail, an apron tied at the waist, and the evening begins to feel like my own.

We keep a few aprons at home: checkerboard patterns, simple monochrome styles, each with a slightly different personality. Choosing one to suit the mood or the menu adds a little pleasure to the preparation. Even a Tuesday dinner deserves some consideration.

Our latest addition came from a cooking class at Monteverdi during our trip to Tuscany this summer. Putting it on brings back the lunch we prepared and the pleasure of sitting down to enjoy it together. I like to think it helps the pasta taste a little more Italian, even in our kitchen in Atlanta.

There is, of course, a practical reason behind all this affection. Few things frustrate me more than an oil stain on a favorite shirt. The dinner was delicious; the dry cleaner remains cautiously optimistic.

So I tie on an apron before I begin. Then I can get on with cooking.