A GIRL NAMED SOUS CHEF

I have known Karen since before I was twenty, before I was married, and before I became a mother - all very informative parts of my life. She has been a constant presence in my life through all the decades since we first met. Karen, her husband Jimi, my husband Kurt and I started socializing and quickly became best friends. In the years since Kurt and I moved to the West Coast, they've faithfully made the 3,000 mile trek to see us nearly yearly.

We two couple also traveled together - mostly to the Southwest, where we would rent wonderful houses with stucco walls and tiles floors cool under our bare feet - or to the mountains of the Pacific Northwest where we would stay in rustic log cabins. Most significant, though, is that Karen and I would COOK. In my kitchen, in her kitchen, and in the strange kitchens of all those rented houses, we would cook, and at all times, I was happily and ever, her sous chef.

Karen and I are so different in the kitchen, that it would seem amazing to an outsider that we could even get along. She follows recipes carefully; I tend to think recipes are for wimps. She loves kitchen gadgets; I finally got a Kitchenaid mixer in my mid-50s and still don't own a food processor. She likes her eggs cooked very dry; I like mine just barely warmed through. She is deeply creative where I just muddle along in that arena.

And yet in the kitchen, while we laughed to tears, fought, made up, drained countless bottles of wine, shared our secrets and whispered our fears, we moved past friendship and straight into sisterhood. We became the fully-formed adults that we are today because of each other. While we were teaching ourselves how to make tamales and sushi, we were also learning how to be strong and confident women.

One of the last times we cooked together, the four of us had rented a cabin in the mountains. I made a pizza that was a complete mess. Had it been just a bit worse, it would have gone into the trash and we would have gone looking for a restaurant. But people were either polite or hungry enough to eat it without complaining. This weekend, I made the pizza below. It turned out better than that pizza of last year and Karen, the flour for this dough was a local organic soft wheat pastry flour. Pretty cool, huh? How I would have loved to have you and Jimi here eating it with us!

Today Karen has a disease that keeps her in a wheelchair. She has difficulty communicating and can no longer cook. Now, when I make the trip to her house, I cook for Karen in her beautiful kitchen tricked out with her beloved gadgets. I do my best to make food that I know she will enjoy eating and that will fill her up and bring her contentment. As I poke around in her cupboards looking at the amazing bunch of ingredients she has accumulated, I realize that being the sous chef to my dear, dear sister-friend has been a privilege and a pleasure that sustains me and keeps me growing.

Karen, I think about you at all times of the day, but most especially when I walk into my kitchen to start a meal. There, you are my muse.