No matter how much space you have,
people always want to be in the kitchen.
When entertaining at the manor, I am always amazed how everyone
migrates to the kitchen. They never make themselves comfortable
with a drink in the numerous sofas and easy chairs, but instead
flock around the kitchen sink, standing like cattle at a watering hole
in the Old West.
I would love to think my cooking is so entertaining, they are
captivated by my vermouth pan sauce or the whipping of
hollandaise. Or they drift in, levitated on the heavenly scent from lids
sputtering on the stove and leg of lamb basting in the oven.
But it's something magical and nostalgic. Something warm and
compelling draws us to this savory spot. For me, it's the cozy warmth
from the open oven door, as my grandma checked her pies and that
mouth watering sizzle of fried chicken in iron skillets on the stove.
It's memories of my uncles mixing Kool-Aid in the big pitcher at the
sink, the metallic scent of the well water, the frosty condensation on
the glass and the green mustache I wore the rest of the day.
It may sound a bit trite, but the kitchen really is the heart of the
home. It's a place of comfort, where life is sustained. After all,
doesn't life revolve around the people we love and food?