The Glorious Kitchens Of
Windsor Smith

Windsor Smith Kitchen #1.1

Growing up, I underestimated the importance of the kitchen, but after seven year’s of living in New York, a place where kitchens are notoriously small — and where I had the fortune of having two gloriously large ones, and the edifying experience of having one infinitesimally small one — I came to understand what a kitchen is worth and what it means.

The kitchen really is the beating heart of the home. The things you make there bind you to the people who gather in ways that restaurant meals just don’t. I was reminded of the importance of kitchens again over the holidays, when both sides of my family — our mothers, two of our four siblings and three of our five nieces and nephews — gathered around the dinner table in our home. While his younger siblings slept, our three year old nephew sat at the adult table and ate the adult food. It was a first for him, and he recounted it excitedly the following day. He may not remember that evening, but we always will.


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Happy Merry!


Happy Christmas! If I had my druthers, I’d be spending Christmas someplace like this. I love the pile of firewood. I love the sense of snow on the ground. I envision myself snuggled up in flannels and long-johns and faux fur-lined boots, sipping a warm mug of cider and gazing out at the mountainous woods.


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How We Revel:
Kitchen Gardens


I have a recurring dream. Always I am in the kitchen of the home that I live in with  my family in my dreams. This is the home where our children will grow into adulthood, and we will live out our old age. In my dream, there are French doors, thrown open to the Southern California day. Outside, it’s blue skies and radiant sunshine, but that isn’t what calls to me through our flung-open doors. Instead, I am drawn to the patch of green that winks at me through the open top-half of our kitchen’s Dutch door: the kitchen garden I’ve nurtured from seedlings and seed. 


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