August, 19 2 2 
31 
THE ETERNAL KITCHEN 
Some of the Romance and Color of Old-Fashioned Kitchens 
Should Be Used to Enliven the Kitchens of Today 
RUBY ROSS GOODNOW 
W HEN I think of my grandmother's 
kitchen, I am convinced that it has 
an eternal spirit, a warm, fragrant, 
comfortable spirit that will go on forever. 
I cannot associate modern conveniences 
with its deep shadows, its worn boards, its 
beams hung with red peppers and herbs. 
When I realize that old 
Aunt Cherry, the black 
mammy who gave me cake 
bowls to scrape when I was 
a little girl, is still the mis¬ 
tress of that old kitchen I 
am reasurred of the rewards 
of life. I am a little girl 
again, sitting under the big 
table eating my own special 
cake, cooked in an egg shell, 
or trying to help Aunt 
Cherry churn, or sitting on 
the steps shelling peas and 
listening to stories of Uncle 
Remus. It is wonderful to 
realize that dozens of u.s 
grandchildren and great 
grandchildren have breathed 
in the simplicities of that 
old kitchen, and dozens of 
children before us. The 
march of fashion in house 
furnishings, of ingenuity in 
equipment, has touched it 
very gently. Aunt Cherry 
is still supreme and prefers 
to do things in her own way. 
In the South the kitchens 
of old-fashioned houses 
were detached buildings, 
small empires ruled by ty¬ 
rannical but gentle colored 
women who directed the 
constant and countless in¬ 
dustries of the family. 
Work never ceased in the 
kitchen, but it was leisurely 
work with an accompani¬ 
ment of tranquil songs and 
a pervading aroma of heav- 
enlv smells. 
to hear, and all these exquisite requirements 
were satisfied by this old kitchen. My eyes 
became aware of the simple beauties of bare 
walls, and scrubbed boards, and piles of 
highly colored vegetables, and brown baskets 
of fresh creamy white eggs, and quantities 
of brilliant fruits and berries, and foaming 
churns and pans of milk. 
My ears were soothed by the 
sweet old spirituals and the 
fantastic and good humored 
field songs of the negroes. 
My tongue—oh, the adven¬ 
tures of tasting the thou¬ 
sands of good things in the 
various processes of cook¬ 
ing! My nose was one con- 
s t a n t in-drawn sniff of 
curiosity. Even before one 
reached the kitchen one be¬ 
gan to sniff the pleasures to 
come—hot gingerbread or 
ham boiling in sherry, or 
pungent smells of vinegar 
and sweet spices advertising 
new pickles to the furthest 
reaches of the garden. My 
fingers were ever eager to 
learn the secrets of vege¬ 
tables and fruits. If I had 
been blind my fingers could 
have defined everything in 
the kitchen for me! 
I review the various 
kitchens that have made in¬ 
delible impressions on my 
memory—a great English 
one, hundreds of years old, 
with an open hearth where 
fifteen wild boars could be 
turned on the spits at once. 
An Italian farmhouse one, 
where everything took place 
within the deep chimney 
place, several women cook¬ 
ing at once, where little arti¬ 
chokes were browned in a 
deep oven, and spaghetti 
cooked to melting before my 
I wonder what takes the place of such a 
kitchen in the childhood of today? Cer¬ 
tainly I spent a large part of my childhood 
in the kitchen. It was there I heard my first 
fairy stories. A kitchen should be a de¬ 
light to all the senses-—it should be equally 
good to smell, to see, to taste, to touch, and 
An Italian kitchen built around a pair of Venetian cupboards boasts quite 
an architectural ivorkshelf—a slab of yellow marble supported by two iron 
brackets. The walls are washed with lemon yellow 
