Room Temperature

Recipes are not written for Sunday morning bakers in 19th-century colonials. “Room temperature,” in particular, is a description that has the appearance of objective uniformity, but really possesses none of the attributes that render directions clear, lucid, or helpful to a homeowner such as myself. It is not so much that I am unfamiliar with a space

Ode to a Housewife’s Mixing Bowl

Appurtenance to a small appliance, Instrument of domestic industry. Kitchen companion of thirteen years, Caressed by thirteen thousand scars. She is more anvil than hammer, More mule than Muse. She is a basin, not a fountain, But from her arms are borne the cakes of joy, the bread of life, and the loaves of consolation.