In my grandmother’s house there was a fire alarm mounted on the wall of the kitchen. Anytime you turned on the stove to cook something more complicated than water the fire alarm would inevitably go off, and someone would have to grab a towel and use it to frantically fan the air in front of the fire alarm until it stopped shrilling. I always wondered what had possessed my grandparents to mount a fire alarm in their kitchen, or what had possessed them to leave it there for decades given that it went off every time you tried cook anything. I mean, for me it was just part of the tradition of summer – standing in the corner of the kitchen with a towel at the ready while dinner was being prepared – but if I had to live with it year round I would have found somewhere else to put it. Read the rest of this entry ?
Monday Night Dinner 