won't work for food

Recently my job at the farmer's market at Willow Creek Orchards took a much needed winter hibernation leaving me temporarily jobless and free. I've been spending the majority of my time: buying too many presents for the people I love (although, is there such a thing as too many presents?); looking for a job (is it so wrong that my next job must have to do with food, preferably local/organic/sustainable/vegan or at least vegetarian food, and, oh, did I mention I'd love to be able to ride my bike to it?); cleaning the shit out of our kitchen and dining room to make space for new cookbooks and other cooking/baking arrivals and.....yes yes, cooking!

While our kitchen may be tiny, it is mighty, just like Mark Bittman's, (must be an NYT subscriber to read, but it's free to join!) and is the perfect place to spend a cold winter night. Upon first entering the no more than 8 x 11 foot addition to the rear of the first floor you may notice one thing: your breath. As the room was added by our landlord back when he used to live here, it isn't very well insulated against the bitter Philadelphia winter (today's high of 64 might have something to say about that, however). Alas, once you get the soup simmering, the cookies crisping and the brownies baking, you find yourself shedding the scarf you struggled to keep out of the batter, the ski cap covered in confectioners sugar from that icing mishap, or the hoodie dotted with olive oil splatters. And sometimes, when you're eating solo, it's just fine staying in there and eating dinner right on the cutting board that was used to prepare it.

Cleaning, reorganizing and revitalizing our kitchen is almost like spending time in a brand new place! And yet, as that often misquoted Zeppelin lyric goes, the food remains the same.

Please allow us to introduce you to the Clap It Off kitchen:

This, friends, is where the magic happens! Welcome!

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