The kitchen seemed as big as the whole house, or, rather, the rest of the house, to my mind, had only cold, dark, small rooms, whereas the kitchen was warm, well lit, and big enough for everybody with its large wooden table, its sinks, its broad counters, the smells of smoke and garlic, and the huge cast-iron stove with pots and ovens that transformed dust, leaves, and chopped up things into nourishment for the whole family, meals that filled our bellies and warmed our hearts. This wasn’t just a kitchen, but where everything began and where everything returns, the smells and warmth of the familiar, if only in our minds.