Everything and the Kitchen Sink

"Your kitchen is a symbolic place. Regardless of how much food is in your refrigerator or how many gadgets are in your cupboards, it is well stocked with associations, memories and metaphors. Write about your kitchen...how does it reflect you?"

--From page 38 of Room to Write by Bonnie Goldberg

Several glasses, half full, are scattered about the counter. There are fresh lip imprints on each, and smudged fingertips to match. A plastic spider idles by the coffeemaker.

It is quiet now, but the smell of breakfast still lingers: bagels, oatmeal, coffee and Jachnun. During this time the kitchen itself seems surprised - a hub of lively activity, children's voices and the sound of moving chairs and clinking cutlery, mouths chewing or talking excitedly, now all silenced. The mess remains. Crumbs decorate the table in abstract patterns. A chair is pulled like a loose tooth.

Once it is clean, the kitchen is quiet, waiting. Everything glitters in white and gray.

In the evenings the cacophony returns, swelling with the smells and sounds of cooking. On the weekends Mizrahi or Latin music fills the space with fresh color. Wine is drunk. Peppers and onions are chopped, garlic sizzling in the pan. The kitchen is bathed in light and warmth and delicious aromas.

Outside, the trees are painted against the sky, and squirrels skitter past. It is hard not to look out the window while at the sink, watching the small yard blossom and hoping for deer. Turning to hand a spoon to a child or refill a glass of water. This kitchen has witnessed countless bowls of Mac and Cheese and infinite batches of hummus being made, a blend of Middle Eastern and American, adult and child, hunger and satiety, weary and exuberant emotions tumbling together in a tumult of spice, laughter and exasperated shouting.

It smells like bleach or garlic, hot paprika or the nothing aroma of mozzarella. The counter is always riddled with the artifacts of childhood: a brightly colored barrette, small rubber toys, a new box of crayons, a stick from the woods believed to be a magic wand.

Someone wipes the stovetop with a wet rag, and places the last clean mug in the cupboard. Someone is calling in the distance. Someone is getting a glass of water, standing on tiptoe to reach the spigot. Someone is being hugged. Someone is crying, dejectedly. Someone is hiding, giggling with delight.

The kitchen is the center of family life. It is the recipe for gathering. It is everything that means home.