8/17/2019 The Kitchen.doc

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-kitchendoc 1/2

4) The Kitchen*

by Alfred Kazin

The kitchen held our lives together. My mother worked in it all day long, we ate in it

almost all meals, I did my homework and first writing at the kitchen table, and in winter Ioften had a bed made up for me on three kitchen chairs near the stove. On the wall just

over the table hung a long horizontal mirror that slopeda alunecat! to a ship"s prowproraunui vapor! at each end and was lined in cherry wood. It took up the whole wall, and

drew every object in the kitchen to itself. The walls were a fiercely stippledbright!

whitewash, so often rewhitenedrealbit! by my father in slackuscat! seasons that the paint looked as if it had been s#ueezeds$a strans! and cracked into the walls. % meager

unscreened electric bulb hung down the center of the kitchen at the end of a chain that

had been hooked into the ceiling.

In the corner, ne&t to the toilet, was the sink at which we washed, and the s#uare

tubcada! in which my mother did our clothes. %bove it, two little bo&es engraved with'ebrew letters litere evreiesti! were standing forlorn. One of these was for the poor, the

other to buy back the (and of Israel. )ach spring, a bearded little man would suddenlyappear in our kitchen, salute us with a hurried 'ebrew blessing, empty the bo&es

sometimes with a sidelong lookprivire piezisa! of disdain if they were not full!,

hurriedly bless us again for remembering our less fortunate *ewishevreiesc! brothers andsisters, and so take his departure until the ne&t spring, after vainly trying to persuade my

mother to take still another bo&. +e did occasionally remember to drop coins in the

 bo&es, but this was usually only on the dreadedde temut! morning of midterms and

final e&aminations, because my mother thought it would bring me luck.

A Visit to Grandmother's Kitchen

+hen you walk into my -rammy"s kitchen, it smells like rich brown cinnamonscortisoara! and rosy applesauce. he says, 'i honey bun greeting me with a big bear

hug and a sugary kiss. 'er kitchen windows are all steamed upaburit! with the scent of

 buttery apple tarts. -ranny pours hot chocolate into a fat, red mug and tops it withwhipped creamfrisca batuta! for me. I swirla invarti! a cinnamon stick around in the hot

chocolate and lick my lips, getting the last little crumbsfirmituri! of apple tart.

The Kitchen

Our waking life and our growing years were for the most part spent in the kitchen. 'ere

we lived, not mindingto be careful! the little space, trod to tread/to step! on each other

like birds in a hole, all taking at once but never I think feeling overcrowded.

8/17/2019 The Kitchen.doc

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-kitchendoc 2/2

That kitchen was scruffydirty!, warm and low. % black grategratar! crackledtrosni! with

coal and beech twigscrengute de fag! and towels toasted onto warm! on the

fireguardsemineu!. On the floor were stripsdungi! of muddy mattingcovor plin denoroi!, the windows were chocked withsuffocated! plants and fungusmucegai! ran over

the ceilings.

+hen evening came, we returned to the kitchen, back to its smoky confort. Indoors, our

mother was cooking pancakes, her face aglow from the fire. There was a smell of pungentacrid/sharp! lemon and saltybriny! butter and the burning hisssuierat! of oil.

The time had come for my violin practice. I began twanginga acorda! the strings0 my

 brothers lowered their heads and sighed. I slashed away at 1+illim Tell2 and when I didthat, plates jumped and mother skippedjump! gailyhappily! round the heartrug. o, with

his curtains drawn close and the pancakes coming, we settled downbecome #uiet! to the

evening.