The pathetic state of my larder

lar·der
1. a room or place where food is kept; pantry.
2. a supply of food

When cooking in the bathroom, storage is at a premium. There is no room to stockpile staples when one's pantry doubles as one's dressing room. My refrigerator is better suited to a college dorm room, with just enough room for a six pack and a tub of fresh salsa. The in-fridge freezer is perpetually frosted with barely enough room for a popsicle.

The pathetic state of my larder requires me to limit my food storage to a judiciously selected list of cooking staples. On the shelf: olive oil, kosher salt, a pepper grinder, balsamic vinegar, two packages of dried pasta, a bag of pasilla powder. In the the fridge: a wedge of ungrated parmesan (reggiano), a block of sharp cheddar, a stick of butter, a jar of mustard, a too-large bottle of soy sauce awaiting transfer to a smaller container, a reasable bag of flour tortillas, another one of corn tortillas.

To gather enough food to cook dinner requires that I live my life in an anachronistic slow food fantasy. Every evening I answer the question "what's for dinner" with a trip to the green grocer, butcher or fish monger. I only buy what I can cook and eat that night. I pick out only what's fresh. I avoid waste. I make sure that any food I buy can be prepared within the tight confines and limited equipment of my cooking space. And, I am careful to consider the timing and complexity of my prep time. I don't want to sit over a pot and stir a sauce for a long time in clean view of the toilet. The result is that I've developed a number of recipes and approaches to cooking that work well for anyone who wants simple, easily prepared food. You don't have to suffer the limitations of a bathroom-based kitchen to gain from my experience.

Cooking in the Bathroom

I never thought that a microwave, a hot plate, a toaster oven, a bar fridge and a bathroom sink could comprise the perfect components of a gourmet kitchen, until necessity proved me wrong. When I moved into a basement studio without a real kitchen, the plan was that I would live there a few nights a week by myself. My partner was moving full-time to our home in the Alexander Valley north of San Francisco. I'd keep my job in the City and the studio would be my crash pad on the occasion when I couldn't suffer the long commute.

After a few unexpected turns of my partner's career track we had to adjust that plan. On weekends, we enjoy Ridgeback Mountain, where our 100 lb ridgebacks run freely through our Syrah vineyard and I enjoy cooking on a Thermador cooktop. During the week, on the other hand, the four of us, Peter, the ridgebacks, and me are now sharing a 270 square foot studio apartment...without a kitchen. We could be lazy (and poor) and go out for dinner every night, but then I'd miss out on my favorite stress reliever. Nothing relaxes me more after a hard day at work than cooking a great meal -- chopping and stirring while sipping a glass of red wine.

We had only one option: to set up cooking facilities in the studio's bathroom. The sink is a little tight for rinsing vegetables, but the stand-up shower works just fine (thank you Kramer). The BTUs are non-existent on my hot plate, but it can still boil water just fine. And, I've come to a deep appreciation of the sublime versatility of the toaster oven. Three months into this experiment, I ocasionally still fantasize that I'm cooking gourmet meals in a Parisian chambre de bonne. But what I'm really doing is

Cooking in the Bathroom.