Most of the time, my kitchen looks like a tornado just passed through, and then the eight of us sharing the space set everything on fire. I live in Greenwich Hall with her 7 other girls. The kitchen is packed with a small stove, oven, and sink. Our countertop is virtually non-existent, with a small square space serving as a drying rack. We're caught in a never-ending cycle of cupboards full of food, freezers and refrigerators overcrowded, and bins overflowing.
Cooking is a game. It's about balancing who's in the kitchen, when the stove is open, who's doing the dishes, and who's allowed to fill the water bottle. Dinner time is like bumping elbows, sorry, cooking timers and lots of boiling water. Ramen, pasta, simple things. On the rare occasions when the oven is turned on, the smell of cooking fills the dormitory.
It depicts a person cleaning with dishes in the sink and a pile of dishes in the square space of the drying rack. Finding a spare spatula or spoon is practically a game of Jenga.
Our dining table is a small round table that is 3 feet tall. The toaster is on the chair and is the only place close enough to an electrical outlet. This is where our shared mail is placed when someone takes it out of the mailbox. There was out-of-season Halloween candy, loose plastic utensils, notebooks and computers, and more. It is the center of space and a part of each of our lives.
The kitchen is our common area besides a lot of people working in such a small space. There we cook meals, finish homework, and talk about our days. I have a lot of random roommates in my dorm, but most of us were strangers to each other when we moved in last fall. I got to know more about my suitemates through interactions here.
Someone walks through the door and asks me what I'm cooking, someone compliments the smell of garlic that has invaded our room, someone puts an egg on toast and says, “Oh my god, that looks so good.” Masu. With our busy schedules, we don't have time to sit and talk with the people we share the same space with. Instead, small talk about food allows us to get to know each other.
Someone turns on the oven to bake, and a blueberry muffin is placed on the table with a note that says, “Enjoy.” A knock on the door turned into a slice of banana bread, and I shared a chocolate chip cookie or two with whoever happened to be sitting on the couch. The cookies may be Toll House and Banana Bread frozen from scratch, but each moment shared is an act of love.
No one brings up the fact that we live next door when we break open a carton of eggs when we're too lazy to go to the grocery store. I laugh at frozen Eggos when someone perfects their homemade dorm waffles. During his brief free time in the kitchen, he makes two grilled cheeses to share with his roommates. We sit at that little table and talk about our day. Food is an outlet for our bond.
Dorm life is tough, and in New York City, it can't be any more crowded. Sharing a small space with her seven girls taught me that not everyone does their own dishes, but it has given me so much. Despite my busy lifestyle, I was able to learn about different cuisines and cooking customs, and get to know the people I live with. The kitchen could be our weak point, but it wasn't, it was the heart of our home.
Please contact Emily Genova. [email protected]
