Cooking Origin Stories: Lapis, Not Flame

When I die, I want to come back as an item from my wife’s kitchen, preferably her Flame colored Le Creuset Signature Cast Iron 1 ½-quart sauce pan. I certainly live a good life, but there is no doubt in my mind that Vicky’s Le Creuset cookware, her Wusthof classic (not gourmet) knives, and her Villeroy & Boch glasses live a safer and more comfortable life than me, or you, ever will.

Before I met Vicky, I had a simple relationship with my kitchen implements, most of which were hand me downs from my sisters and mother with additional items collected during my travels around the world-hand painted plates and bowls from Palestine and coffee cups from Japan are two of my most treasured and practical items. I used my kitchen utensils for their prescribed duties, sometimes more-opening cardboard boxes with a steak knife, for instance-and when they were done with their job cutting, holding water, or heating things, I would give them a quick wash and toss them into a cabinet or drawer. It was all pretty basic. My wife’s relationship with all things culinary is a bit more sophisticated.

In the months following our engagement, the bedroom of our Brooklyn apartment overflowed with all things kitchen. When I asked why these items couldn’t be stored in the dining room, a look of terror crossed my soon-to-be wife’s face. She exclaimed that Nimera, my cat, might tip over and shatter a box of champagne glasses. This seemed plausible, so I allowed the growing mountain of glassware to live in our bedroom, where my cat, for some…