Kitchen Talk

I like to hang out in kitchens. Always have. If I've ever walked into your house then I've probably wandered into your kitchen, grabbed a towel or a knife and invited myself to help out and generally hang around. It's a little presumptuous, probably, if not outright annoying. But, like I said, I like kitchens.

Aside from the vapor that rises from a boiling pot, or the spicy smell of food being prepared I like the idle jabbering that happens in the kitchen. I don't know anybody who's inclined to grate that or stir this in silence.

I would say that most, if not all, family gossip travels through somebody's kitchen at least once. Standing at somebody's counter you're equally likely to hear about babies being born or people getting married as you are to hear about job loss or money trouble or illness. Juicy details of the story get flung around when you're in the kitchen. Even if I were to hear the same story in another space it wouldn't be told the same way. The kitchen provides a different rendering of the same events. It's a more intimate or less rehearsed narrative. It's a story more likely to breathe than be a set of well-practiced monologues.

Obviously the food is eventually served and we take our place at a table. By that time, though, everything is in a pretty bowl, neatly served onto plates or laced up in linen napkins.

When you think about it the dinner table is less than 1/3 of any gathering. There's something that happens in the kitchen over cutting boards and dish-soapsuds in the sink. Even with a good meal, maybe ~especially~ with a good meal, I like to hang out in kitchens. Always have.