Whimsy Kitchen is where I can share with the world my passion and love for the small things that bring joy to my life: food and writing. It is a bubbly sort of space that reflects the playfulness and, well…whimsy of my own personality. But there is more to Whimsy Kitchen than that. Ultimately, it is an extension of my self. And I am not limited to bubbles and sugar.
Whimsy Kitchen, similar to my life, is like cake. It is composed of multiple tiers. Each sheet of cake is separated by a layer of filling that adds depth and contrast in flavor, texture, and appearance. All of this is covered with a rich, sweet icing. It may seem to be just an ordinary dessert frosted with vanilla. It may look so simple. But you may not comprehend the labor and love that went into such a modest-looking cake until you yourself follow the recipe and stand over the mixing bowl, back arched and arms aching from whipping egg whites to soft peaks for what seems like hours. And you can’t possibly know from its frosting what’s inside until you slice into it and taste it. The creative process, flavor and overall experience of the cake depend upon all the unique ingredients that go into it. And like cake, each component of Whimsy Kitchen is equally important as the next.
Lately I’ve been caught up with the responsibilities of life and have been absent in this sector because I was feeling restricted by the expectations I had unknowingly assigned to it. So, I’ve decided to expand the focus of Whimsy Kitchen to better represent the many facets of me as a person. Whimsy Kitchen is the place for me to exhibit all the creative endeavors in which I take pride. It is the space where I can expose all the hidden layers that make up the cake of my self.
I love New York City. The energy, the speed of the underworld, the system of trains with all its progress and tunnels and secrets; the determination and ambition of the millions of dreamers that make up the sturdy foundation of the breathtaking skyline, whose awesomeness is experienced by us finite beings looking up from its trampled streets to its soaring, untouchable crown; the energy and zeal that shine onto our faces as the lights of the traffic and on the Broadway stages. New York is a city to be beaten. It’s a hard, dirty, gritty, high-strung beast with an aggressive ego and a seething latent rage. It plays by it’s own rules and puts up a nasty fight. It gives little in the way of compassion or forgiveness, and it will knock you down and kick you when you’re on the flat of your back to assert its dominance. Only those with the heart to persevere can survive the fight and make it out alive.
That is the beautiful thing about the people of the City. They struggle, as people always do. But they are a rebellious breed. They are relentless and steadfast in the battles of their design. They will give up on their dreams at no cost. They are resolute in their fight through the pain of the “No’s” and “You’ll never make it’s” and “You need to be more realistic’s” that hit hard in the gut and knock the wind out of them. They collect the rejection and hardship and resistance in a bucket labeled “Strength” to throw back in the world’s smug face.
I love New York City because here, I am forced to challenge myself in every conceivable way, to reject the world’s rules and insistence on normalcy. I am a modern warrior, defending my vision and my individualism.
Now let’s go eat some cake.