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.