Margin Notes: The Kitchen

I have my own kitchen for the first time. It’s small, only three steps or so across, with a monster-like fan. The stove looks as if it’s been half chopped off and the cabinets are stubborn, making you yank them open. And yet, it’s my own kitchen. I get excited just being able to wake up and pour myself a glass of water or to come back from a long day and sit at the kitchen table with my roommate, eating snacks from the cabinets. The literal space of a kitchen reminds me of home and, in turn, makes my apartment feel like home.

The act of actually cooking in the kitchen brought a few bumps in the road this weekend. First, I made chocolate chip cookies late at night, craving not only the sugar but also the methodicalness of baking. We had no eggs, milk or butter, so I found an eggless recipe and borrowed almond milk from my apartment neighbor. And yet we still had no butter. I texted my mom, strangely stressed about the fact I couldn’t manage to make cookies by myself. Olive oil, she replied immediately. They’ll taste weird, but that will give them the fat they need. She was right. The cookies looked and tasted good — an improvised success.

Then came the chocolate chip pancakes. Too lazy to walk the long distance to the dining hall Saturday morning, my roommate and I drove to the store to get the eggs, milk and butter we needed. We dropped the eggs immediately after buying them, like little kids with sticky fingers. Back at the apartment, frazzled with all the ingredients that needed attention, I spilled milk and dropped a bowl, the glass splitting all over the floor. Twenty minutes later, we were ready, the pancakes, golden and fluffy, stacked in front of us — a long fought for success.

These instances will go down in the history of our kitchen, remembrances of not only the food, but also the time period — the first few weeks of school when everything feels new, including our cooking skills. At home, my kitchen already has a long history. Quite literally, my kitchen carries the history of my family, for my mom infuses our kitchen with Italian dishes. During holidays, I learn family recipes for fiadonis cookies or pizzelles; during the year, I enjoy a welcome overload of pasta, pesto, prosciutto and the like. Through cooking, my mom has taught me my ancestry and passed on a deep sense of tradition.

Our kitchen has created new traditions too, adding to its history. Whole-wheat cinnamon buns harken back to winter break a few years ago when my mom and I binged on Hart of Dixie and rewarded ourselves three hours later for our dedication with a warm, doughy treat. Grilled chicken, zucchini and peaches speak to nearly every summer dinner, many of which were long lunch-dinners (linners!) with my aunt, uncle and cousin. Chocolate chip cookies are linked to my mom’s visits to my college, because she comes bearing dozens of cookies. The cookies will be gone in a few days, my roommate and I warming them up in the microwave after late nights in the library.

At home, my kitchen is the best place of the house. Here, I feel comforted — and not just by food. The kitchen is the place to gather and debrief, to worry and to feel better, to talk and to advise. It carries not only its memories but also a deep sense of care. I think these first experiences cooking in my apartment kitchen made me so nervous because I’m realizing I’m increasingly responsible for creating my own home wherever I am. Someday, I want to be able to make my own kitchen — from its food to its tradition to its conversation — such a place of comfort and care for someone else, the way my mom has done for me. But for now, in the recurrent theme of college, I need to learn to do it for myself.

And so, we’re back to my first kitchen. Perhaps I’ll try baking again next weekend, this time with the proper ingredients. Or, with the help of friends, I’ll cook dinner. Most likely, I’ll end up at the kitchen table simply talking about the day with my friends, the cabinets full with things yet to be made.

Rachael Allen is a junior at Bowdoin College and a lifelong Canton resident. The recipient of several writing awards, she currently serves as the news editor for Bowdoin’s student newspaper, the Orient, and as the editor-in-chief of The Quill, Bowdoin’s literary and arts magazine.

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Posted by Canton Citizen on Sep 16 2016. Filed under Featured Content, Opinion. Both comments and pings are currently closed.