My Kitchen Journey

When I was 21 and newlywed, I prowled a fifth-floor walkup on Divrei Chaim, looking out windows that showed me mountains on one side and Belz on the other. The kitchen had white faux-wood cabinets and a gray granite counter. Like a fool, I stressed over the ugly matzah tiles on the floor instead of admiring that counter.

Since we only planned to stay in Israel for a few months, I owned two dairy pots, two meat pots, a knife for each, and a pareve peeler. In boredom, I went to Shefa Shuk at least twice a week. My cabinets and fridge and schedule were largely bare. Like a fool, I worried over a crack in the cement holding the granite slabs of the counter together, instead of enjoying the space.

When we moved back to New York, my kitchenette was roughly a quarter of the size of my modest Israeli kitchen. A quarter, I tell you, a half of a half. I could have either dishes or appliances, not both.

The kitchenette was made of white laminate with natural wood trim. The countertops were white laminate, too. Over the 40 or so years since it was built, it had yellowed like teeth. I took Wite-Out and covered areas where the laminate had peeled off, showing the plywood underneath. The ugliness offended me. I sighed.