When I was a small child, my dad had a window cut into the galley
kitchen of our walk-up apartment on West Seventy-sixth Street. The idea
was that my mother could share in the socializing in the living room,
while friends drinking Chardonnay could enjoy the sight of my mother
preparing the chicken Marbella. My mom hated the window.
You've read your last complimentary article this month. To read the full article, SUBSCRIBE NOW
If you're already a subscriber please sign in or link your subscription.