Sometimes, the only thing to do is to escape to the kitchen, pick up a knife and get to work.
No matter what kind of day I’m having, holding that knife makes everything (and sometimes everyone) else disappear. Who wants to come into the kitchen with a mad woman wielding a knife?
There is something therapeutic about slicing mushrooms, an onion, or any other vegetable. I am at home in the kitchen.
Peace comes with the simple motion of rocking a knife to and fro on a wooden cutting board. The sun streams through the big picture window above the sink, casting a warm glow over the board, my hand and my knife.
Others might run a warm bubble bath to erase the stress of the day. I pick up a MAC Santoku.