The Chronicles of Alex

… and it’s not because I’m a woman.

The kitchen is equivalent to a sacred space in my family; it is where laughs, tears, rage, “I am Sorry.”s, and endless good smells come from. You don’t have to take your shoes off before entering, and people are probably louder than they would be in any spiritual space and there is always music playing in the background, but that is what makes it special. It is where people went for redemption after mistakes knowing they’d be accepted back after a conversation or another attempt at a recipe.

The smell of bacon, fried potatoes, and eggs with a hint of ketchup floats around my mind as I write this. Those were the key ingredients to a perfectly wrapped and grilled breakfast burrito. I’d watch in awe as my parents prepared this religiously on the weekends – one making the fillings, one filling and wrapping this delicious gift. All five of us in the same space ready to devour what we craved most in good smells and the company of those we could be unabashedly ourselves in front of. We were all imperfectly perfect together as one sharing our breakfast burritos and preparing to tackle the tasks of the day ahead.

While we don’t need any more reason to be a family unit, I believe this connects us on a deeper level of understanding. When words don’t work, food does. Food is love from the kitchen. Many conversations have been had leaning against the counters in dim light or sat at the 4-person kitchen table that is older than me. Many failed baked goods were also sent to baking heaven in this same space. Everyone in my family has had these two unique experiences in my childhood kitchen. 

Aside from talking or whipping up recipes with friends and family, I spent a lot of time alone in this space in reflection and concentration. I religiously ate every meal at my self-assigned spot at the kitchen table and spent many nights under pendent lighting in the bay window doing homework. This was my routine. I prepared my meals then sat and ate, generally alone but sometimes with company; I loved this time. I was able to be mindful of the energy I was consuming and focus on each bite with appreciation. I am a slow eater who refuses to sit on their phone or laptop while eating; I need a break during this time of prayer. The kitchen saw me do everything and many of my emotions. 

Despite seeing every piece of me, the kitchen always welcomes me back; it is forgiving. It doesn’t shun you for mistakes. It doesn’t tell you to quit; if anything, it encourages you to keep trying, to keep coming back. That is why I love the kitchen.