Luanne Castle

Dear Kitchen


Stop with your drooping face when I pull a supermarket meal from the fridge or let the bananas go black and--goddess forbid--throw them in the trash instead of making a loaf. I suspect you remember the days of floured counters, the scent of rising dough, and baking bread. Other days, the air redolent with curry or bibimbap or a crispy-skinned Thanksgiving turkey with fixings. The sizzle of pan-fried breaded yellow squash. Our specialty, crispy latkes with dill and chives, sour cream. All those years, I took the lead. I’m worn out. Isn’t it your turn to feed me?