The Kitchen

The following is a piece of writing I wrote to explore the sensory elements of my kitchen.

January 2017

There is a large, white door frame allowing me to peep into the kitchen. Sitting at the dining room table, I feel the wood on the back of the chair digging into my spine.

From here I can see the oils and sauces that are on top of the fridge. There is canola oil, spray oil, soy sauce and a large cylinder of salt. The fridge is white and has two doors that open on the right. Magnets are attached to the fridge, some of them little words and some of them pictures. One says: “kiss me. I’m organic.” Next to the magnets is a white board, there is writing and drawing on it but a lot of the writing on the lower half has been rubbed off. The kitchen sink is steaming from hot water that is coming out of the silver, shiny faucet. Next to the small water faucet are three blue sponges that are stacked on top of each other and two wooden cutting boards that are drying and propped up against the larger faucet. The stove and oven are next to the fridge, the white, smooth top of the stove a little dirty from sauces that have spilled out of the pots while making meals. There is a homemade potholder sitting beneath a clear, large jar that has larger kitchen appliances in it: spatulas, spoons, and whisks. Above the stove is a fan and above that, two square wooden cabinets. The room is lit up with two lights that fill the room with yellow light. They are circular and ribbed with a metal point in the middle. They are not the only light source as the window above the sink lets in some light too. However, it is currently covered with rain droplets which make it hard to see outside.

I watch someone walk into the kitchen and wash dishes, standing on the red mat next to the sink. It is on top of the greenish-brown square tiles that cover the kitchen floor. The small red mat is made of fabric and has hints of dark red, orange-red and light red. Fabrics the brown towels that hang on the hooks on the wall and on the handle of the oven.

Most of the dishes are concealed in the cabinets, but many others wait to be washed or dried in the sink and drying rack. Homemade clay mugs sit face down on a towel underneath the drying rack, as they air-dry. I open the cabinet next to the sink, to see what is in it. The cabinet hangs suspended over the floor, attached to the wall. Inside, on the first shelf, are two green apples, honey, peanut butter, boxed cereal on the second shelf, there is soup, applesauce, bread and medicine. The top shelf is almost empty but the right side is filled with spices. From this place in the kitchen, I turn around to observe my surroundings. I am next to the dishwasher and across the room there is a trashcan, many paper bags and shelf with no doors filled with pots, pans and lids. The pots and pans have overflowed and some are sitting on the floor. All along the left wall are windows with white panes, screens and long strings attached to them to change the height of the shades.

The empty kitchen hums with the sound of the heater and sometimes with the running of the dishwasher. A full kitchen is filled with whistling, clacking of pans, bubbling of boiling water, tapping of lids being moved and adjusted and voices having conversations. The kitchen has two people in it right now, but people move in and out often, filling up and emptying the space. There is something bubbling on the stove, rice, I find out after someone says “don’t take the lid off my rice!” and the other says “I did because it was overflowing” the other says “well you can’t take the lid off of the rice!” and the other person says “you can move the lid, you just can’t stir it..”

I sit at the dining room table, eating applesauce. My spoon makes many noises as I eat: it scrapes across the bottom of the pan and makes more noise as I set it back in the bowl. It is smooth but textured with small soft bits. Someone cleans up the stove with a rag and their meal sits across from me: rice, roasted chicken and broccoli with spices on it.

People move away from the things they are cooking on the stove, pace about and come back. The sound of sizzling changes when they move things on the pan with a flat, wooden tool. There are more sounds coming from the kitchen, the running water to fill up a glass, the fan from the top of the stove humming, the clink of a glass hitting the side of a plate and another tap of a fork being set down.

I have come back to the same seat throughout the day. Now, the house is dark as the sun has gone down. Someone is shaking out spices onto something on the pan. It makes a sifting noise as she pours out the powder, and a tapping noise as she hits the back of the spice container with her hand. She then hits the bottom of a tomato sauce jar and then opens the top with a pop. She is humming and then starts to whistle. There is noise as she shuffles a pan out from the stack of pans, and she sets it down on the stove on the other side of the room. The faint bubble from earlier is back: she is boiling something.