The Chompsy kitchen, in its current incarnation, is a windowless closet in a circa-1981 shared apartment with an electric stove, microwave, and not much else. Julie and her husband, Nick, moved from Philadelphia to Vancouver for a one-year jaunt with nothing but three suitcases and a cat carrier, leaving behind such niceties as a stand mixer, matching plates, a rolling pin, and decent knives. Loathe to purchase these items again when perfectly good ones lay waiting for them in Julie’s mother’s home, they instead made due without. They learned that clean old wine bottles could flatten pie crusts, and that a whisk and strong biceps could mix just about any cookie batter. And so they cooked.
Chompsky is about food. Good food. The best food, even, but the best without breaking the bank. It’s about dreaming up ways to dine in the most sophisticated of restaurants on your own patio. It’s about urban cuisine, a melange of ethnicities and influences and ingredients. It’s about simple food, food you want to eat when you come home after work or when you wake up on Sunday morning. But most of all, it’s about thinking about making food way too much.
