Kitchen Conversations

Kitchen Conversations

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to put a little supper together,” Ann said wearily, heading toward the kitchen. She pulled her apron from the oven handle where it hung, and pulled open the refrigerator door for a look inside.

“Uh, were you talking to me?” the milk carton asked timidly.

“No, silly, she was talking to me!” said the apron in a loud, clear voice.

“I guess I was just talking to myself, as usual,” she replied, glancing into the living room to see if her husband was listening. He was intent on the television, watching his favorite team.

“Oh,” said the apron and fell silent.

Ann reached into the low cabinet for the heavy skillet. A saucepan lid came clanging out. “Now, where did you come from?” Ann exclaimed.

“What? Well, I was just leaning against the door there, minding my own business…” the lid said, sounding wounded.

“Never mind. Just get back in there and stay there. I don’t need you tonight.” Ann was irritated, but her voice softened when she heard Lid’s hurt tone. “ I think we’ll have a stir-fry.”

“Then I’ll be seeing some action!” Apron declared.

“Just what do you mean by that?” Ann said.

“Choppin’ and fryin’? Things’ll be flyin’!”

“I’m not denyin’!” Ann shot back, smiling. She was beginning to feel some energy. She took the baguette from its sack on the bench and quickly sliced it into generous slabs. After putting a chunk of garlic butter into each little maw, she laid the loaf on a cookie sheet and put it into the oven to heat later.

The vegetables she’d taken out were gathered on the counter: the celery, the onion, the bok choy, the mushrooms. They were all murmuring among themselves, excited and giddy about what was to come.

“Okay, line up,” Ann commanded, and the celery stalks spooned up against each other, front to back, front to back, across the cutting board. They behaved nicely.

Chikak, chikak, went the chopping blade. Three neat stacks of celery c’s went sliding into the bowl.

“Now you,” said Ann, holding the onion steady by his tail. “Off with your wallpaper! There. Now, stay still. No, no no, don’t go slipping all over the place!”

The apron giggled. “Stuff’s a’flyin!”

The onion slices rounded up and got back into position. Chikak, chikak, went the blade. First up and down, chik, chik, chik, chik, then across: chik, chik, chik, chik, chik.

“Who’s next?” Ann asked.

The bok choy waved its leaves and said, “I am! I mean, We are!”

Soon the chopping was all done. Ann took out the olive oil and poured a gl-op into the pan and turned on the heat.

“Now for the meat! Come here, beefy!” she said as she unwrapped the plate holding the slices of round steak.

“Are you talking to me?” came a voice from the living room. Bill’s eyes were still held by the tractor beams of the tv, but his chin shifted slightly toward the kitchen, his left ear aimed in her direction.

“No, honey, I’m just getting dinner ready.”