I will make no apologies for the feminist that I am, and that is one who loves little more besides writing and reading, and that is to be barefoot in the kitchen – albeit listening to Garbage. Or Portishead. Or evermore these days, Valerie June.
But with my love of cooking, I grew evermore obsessed with finding the perfect apron.
Harumi Kurihara, a chef I am in absolute awe of, says her day never truly begins until her apron has been tied around her waist. And many times over, I coveted the simple but elegant aprons she has available on her website, with my fervour for the Japanese aesthetic.
But my very first apron would prove to be a housewarming gift from my friend, Robin.
A dear, dear friend of the highest order who knows me all too well.
It was white with swirls of black and pink frilling on the pockets, an apron that was flattering and feminine and cinched in at the waist. It was love at first sight and how I adored that apron. It cemented my love of aprons for ever after.
When it finally grew too grubby beyond saving, I went out in search of a new one and found the perfect one at a shop called Poetry that uses only the best of cottons and the most delicate and feminine of designs.
As much as I try my best to stick solely to second hand finds, aprons have proven very tricky to find in good nick second hand, so when necessary I turn to a few select boutiques that provide only the best of lasting quality.
The apron from Poetry was cream with pale green blossoms stitched all over in rose like blooming. It too cinched in at the waist and was the very epitome of feminine. Eventually the turmeric stains got the better of it and the blossoms of pale green all but faded.
I fell into a deep depression shortly after and my love of cooking went along with my zest for life in this lethargic lull of barely being able to make it out bed day by day.
But my nana was to come to my rescue. Rekindling my love of the kitchen.
That very Christmas she had made me an apron, again feminine in its almost figure hugging design when tied to the front.
It has a red ‘bib’ with buttons of gleaming black and a pattern of bright red tomatoes and purple aubergines, and my kitchen is never without glossy aubergines and sweet and juicy tomatoes.
Wherever I may end up in this world, my apron will come with me.
That is a given.
And one day I hope to learn to sew and to make my very own tailored apron for to make things in this male-dominated world of excess and destruction to create is a beautiful thing, and it will be perhaps my greatest accomplishment yet.
Girl in White Apron by Ewa Jaros
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