Listening to an old movie, a phrase that hadn’t graced my ears in years floated past, Wow…what a dish! I looked up, seeing two men forever frozen in black and white cinematography, with felt fedoras and skinny ties, giving the eye to a beautiful woman. Compliments like that you don’t hear anymore…maybe not totally innocent, but from the heart.
The comment also got me thinking, back to other accurate culinary phrases of my youth, such as The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Again, there I was, in the kitchen with some dishes, this time doing some cookin’, possibly with a someone called good lookin’. The irony now however, is most of us are found anywhere BUT in the kitchen. Instead it is the bathroom, where mirror reflected “selifies” are taken for our relationship introductions or comment con-front-ations. Personally, the only thing I ever see coming from all that is toilet humor, stalled reactions, and a paperless trail haunting people for years – not unlike walking in a pile of ….. Well, you get the picture.
My fondest memories and where the majority of my own relationships started, continued, solidified and simmered were in the kitchen. I also love it, almost as if I was still wearing the perfume that allowed me to bring home the bacon, and fry it up in the pan! Yes, even musically, rattling those pots and pans had value, which is why it is so sad that looking for, and keeping love appears to have been tabled, in favor of poor lighting, cell phone photos, Instagram and text messaging.
Still smiling I remember knife to meet you between smiles, how heart filled spooning did eventually end up in meaningful forking, and when you were steaming mad, tea for two seemed to make it better…if not also put a cherry on the top with a smile. You also always knew and respected where your daily bread came from, and who brought it home! Families were never chicken to talk turkey, because everyone really had a steak in the outcome, and they cared. Life was once happily sandwiched between making a family and supporting a household, and we’d blush when Dad squeezed that ripe tomato he married – after all it was mom!
Such odd puns and double entendres may be from a lifetime ago, now silly and trite and for many they make no sense at all. But they did have a purpose, in a time when you brought someone home to meet the family and share meals. You also knew when you were walking on eggshells and when it was time to take your medicine, which was in the same cabinet as the dinner plates, unless it was a sick conscience, and then you found that reflected in Dad’s eyes.
Now a home is nothing more than a depository of life, a quick stop to change clothes, habits and minds, before we hurry along to make meaningless connections, forget important events and never once realize all that is lost between fast food, fast talk and the fast pace we call the norm. I do take pride however, that even though I’ve been indoctrinated into this new world order, I still remember when a fried mother board happened when someone left on the gas burner, and a very well-used piece of wood went up in flames. I also remember when my place wasn’t a digital bookmark, but a plastic covered chair at a Formica table, where I learned and loved life, caring about those who opened my mind as well as a jar of olives.
Once the heart of a home, where discussions seemed more sincere, and answers more meaningful, kitchens also reminded us, that our stomach and soul were in good hands, even if there was always a crazy cock and bull story to laugh at…which by the way, speaking of hands … don’t forget to wash yours after sending out that next meaningless text of, “do you like me click yes or no” Selfie from your phone!