This summer, I went on a women’s retreat where one of the duties to sign up for was “Kitchen Therapy,” which was code for “your turn to start the meal and clean it up.” There is something to be said about the conversations that happen in the kitchen. The kitchen is always the most popular place at parties. No matter what.
It’s not just that people want to help. Maybe that’s how it starts. But they end up hanging out. It’s where we’re comfortable. There’s stuff to do, cookies and cooking and baking and supplies to hide behind. We can stand around and talk, look in the fridge. We can talk, but don’t have to make eye contact if we don’t want to.
I was with family over Christmas and there were several different incidents of “Kitchen Therapy.”
Lefse is a traditional Norwegian treat. Made from potatoes, the Norse slather butter and sugar on the flat pancakes. Best hot of the griddle, of course! As we sat around making them, we sat and stood and slathered and sprinkled and told stories. Memories, stories, things that are exciting to us.
Later in the day, several people gathered in the kitchen. I don’t think there was anything on the stove, nor were cookies being eaten, nor baked. We just stood around. Some shared fears and small blessings that were sprinkled among sad stories. There were some tears, although most of them had already been shed.
Something magical about the kitchen.
Christmas morning, I was with a different family. I was up early, as were a few others. We didn’t have the pop-can biscuits, so using an iPhone and an 1930’s recipe, we made some cute little biscuits. We laughed. Hard. We spoke of memories of Christmas-biscuits-past. The memories that are tied with the traditional biscuits and gravy Christmas morning breakfast.
We baked and waited for others to wake up, hoping they’d enjoy the biscuits as much as we did making them.
Why is it that the kitchen can be such a great place to be?!