There were two kitchens where I learned to cook "as a little girl."

We moved around quite a bit with my dad's promotions, so it was the first house we built here where I remember starting to cook. My "fancy" dinner for Home Ec was spaghetti and everything looked and tasted great when my teacher came by to see my table and the menu while I was cooking. After she left, as I was carrying the plates with noodles and meat sauce to the table, I wasn't watching what I was doing and one complete serving slid off the plate to the floor. LOL! Yes, I do remember that!

The other kitchen was at my grandparent's "camp" in the NC mountains near the Pisgah National Forrest. Actually it was just around the bend from the setting for Cold Mountain. The "camp" was a sure 'nuf log cabin with an outhouse, a wood cook stove, a pump for water on the back porch, and a big long trestle table that would hold all 15 of us at one time - my grandparents, their 3 children plus spouses, and 7 of us grandchildren. Later they got indoor plumbing and an electric stove, but we loved it just the same. And the food - oh! the food! - runner beans, fruit cobblers (especially the rhubarb), biscuits and sausage gravy for breakfast, fried chicken from cast iron skillets, fresh tomatoes from the commercial growers nearby, June apples cooked in butter and sugar, homemade jams and jellies, fresh churned butter from Molly down the road, watermelon from the creek where it was stashed to chill, and that wonderful spring water where you had to shoo away the little frogs to get to the gourd dipper. As the oldest, I had the duties of bringing in kindling for the stove, snapping beans, fetching tomatoes from their ripening spots on the porch rails, and setting the table. I'm sure I must have helped my grandmother cook at times. My grandfather always cooked the sausage and made the gravy.

My grandfather had a bunch of brothers and sisters and several had summer cabins or farmhouses on the same road as the camp. At least once a day someone would walk up for a visit or we'd walk to visit them. Sometimes we would gather round one place for a hamburger cookout or to grill chicken with everyone bringing a side dish or dessert. As the oldest of the grands, I would be allowed to stay an entire week with my grandparents while my family returned to the hot lowland of the Piedmont.

I've enjoyed most of the homes I have lived in but the camp was my summer childhood for many years and is the place I hold most dear to my heart.

Teresa

Well, it's not where I learned to cook but it's where I learned about the wonders of the kitchen and the center of the household. Both of my grandparents' homes were central in our lives as young people. My Scottish grandmother would tell us to go ask our mom and dad if we could have tea with her in the morning. We were toddlers and had tea with milk and sugar. But I remember that kitchen -- full of warmth and family values.
I also remember my other grandparents' kitchen, again, when I was a toddler. I loved that kitchen in the little house -- the warmth and family love were utmost in our lives. My mom was not a natural cook, but provided for her family in her way. She loved to bake and try new recipes and had many humorous mishaps in her kitchen. She gave me the inspiration to do what I felt like I could in the kitchen and we shared many recipes over the years.
You know -- I started talking here and I've lost the question. But thank you for letting me reflect on my childhood and about those memories of our family kitchens and inspirations.
Annie1971

I honestly dont know how I learned to cook. My mother always shushed us out of the kitchen when she was cooking..... she'd say "get out from under my feet!". hahahahah! I must have watched her from another room though because I cook just like she did.

I'm a little off topic, but I couldn't help but post a note.

I wasn't a little girl at the time, but we lived in Hermantown MN (Duluth "suburbs") for several years in the 90's.

The houses described below were part of the WPA under President Franklin Roosevelt. The new homeowners were decided by lottery.

"The Jackson Project was completed in 1937. Each of the 84 homesteads had a brick veneer farmhouse; half also had a garage/barn combination. Each had five or ten acres of land, and the family also received a pig, a cow, and 35 chickens. The idea was that the family would be able to raise its own food and use the profits from selling any surplus to work off its debt to the government. The units were sold to homesteaders on very liberal terms. The average price for the home and property was $2,687.40 plus interest. Plumbing and electrical wiring were required. The project marked the start of a transition from rural to suburban for the Town of Herman."

My kitchen there was probably 8' X 8'. :) And Linda, the refrigerator was in the back hallway where the icebox used to be. One day, there was a knock at the door and it was a gentleman who was raised in that house. He was happy to see the icebox cubbie was still there. :)

The first house I lived in that I can remember was a rather small white frame house. Next to it was the store run by my Mother and attached to the store was the garage run by my Dad. I remember very little about the house except for the outside. Mostly I remember staying in the store and those who came in always buying me.

The next house was an honest to goodness old log cabin. It had three rooms. I can't remember anything about the kitchen except for the oil stove.

The next house was where I grew up. The oil stove was moved there and the Hotpoint refrigerator, the first one my parents ever had. There was a homemade wooden "cooktable" on one side of the kitchen. It had a green skirt around it. This was where all the cooking action took place, from rolling out pie dough to canning fruits and vegetables. Eventually my Dad built cabinets in the kitchen with a green linoleum top and a metal band around it. Lightening ran in on the metal many times and would splinter up pieces of the linoleum. The oil stove eventually caught fire and that was the last of it. Next my Mother had a huge electric stove.

My favorite kitchen was my Grandmother's. She had a Hoosier where she made biscuits, cakes and teacakes. I can almost hear the coffee perking away on the stove. My Grandad made it and cooked the meat for breakfast in the mornings after he went to the dairy barn and milked the cows. We would eat around the large table in the dining room. The dining room also contained a pie safe, refrigerator and what they called a sideboard.

I was a little girl in the 70's and mom had all the amenities of that time. But I remember the first microwave oven we had, and how we would amaze our friends by showing them how quickly you could heat a cup of water.

We visited my Oma in Germany every year. She still cooked with a wood burning stove. I remember watching her start the fire in the morning already. I also remember using her bike to go to the bakery every morning for fresh breakfast buns and bread. She also had chickens and it was my job to go out and get the eggs from the hens in the morning.

She was a frugal lady, having a raised a child on her own through post-war Germany. When she was getting up in years, my mother begged her to get a refrigerator so that she wouldn't have to walk to the market several times a week. Finally, during a yearly visit, my mother went and bought her a fridge. The following year when mom returned, the fridge was sitting unplugged and being used to store dry goods.

One of my favorite memories is of strolling with her through her vegetable garden, eating fresh peas straight from the pod.

The first house I lived in was built shortly after the Civil War and I think they may have "updated" it in the 1920's-30's. It was on 40 acres in Western MA, way out in farm country. There were lots of dairy farms and pig farms. My Dad, as a side business, raised 2000 chickens from eggs to sell at 6 weeks. We ate a lot of chicken. We also sold eggs. We had a huge 2 acre garden and lots of fruit trees and berry vines.

It was in the 1950's when my parents bought it. All I remember is one wall of cabinets next to the sink. The sink was a real farm house porcelain over cast iron sink with the drainboard built in. Mom had sewed a cloth curtain to go across the front so you would not see the plumbing. She had very little counter space so she always used the big clawfoot round oak table to do all her prep work. That is where the 7 of us ate all our meals except when we had company or it was a holiday. Then we ate in the formal dinning room.

The refrigerator was very small and the stove huge. There was a walk in pantry the size of a good sized closet where everything was kept. We also had a root cellar in the dirt cellar and lots of shelves where the canned food was kept because it was always cool down there. I remember hating to go down there to get a jar of veggies or fruit. It was creepy and dark with only one light at the top of the stairs. Just like all the horror movies you see.
Clare

The house I grew up in was a smallish twin house. The kitchen was large enough for a sink, about 4' of counter space a fridge and a small eating table. The range was actually in a separate room behind the kitchen. It was as far from the counter space as one could possibly get. The tiny room where the range was also had the back door in it. Then, off to one side, was a sort of pantry. Had a coat closet, closets with shelves for extra food and kitchen stuff, a small sink and a toilet. yes--it was the only place my father could find to tuck in an extra toilet, and with 6 people in the house, one bathroom just wasn't enough. At the time, we didn't think anything of it. Now? EW!!!! storing food in a room with a toilet? I'd NEVER!!

I also did a lot of cooking with my grandmother. she lived in a huge, beautiful Victorian home, but the kitchen was--well, let's just say, if you stood in the middle of it, you could reach the range, sink, fridge and set the table. No workspace at all, except for the tiny table--and yet the woman taught me to make jelly, chocolate covered coconute easter eggs, could put on a feast for the whole family, and preserved the products from her extensive vegetable garden. Oh, and she 'did' the flowers for her church's altar every week. Isn't it amazing what you can deal with if you have to?

When I was a little girl, my favorite kitchen was my grandmother's, who lived next door. She had some open shelving for her glasses and plates, and a red and white enameled table. I remember her noodles hanging off the chairs to dry, and we would sit at her kitchen table and play canasta. (I learned later on that she made up her own rules, but we always had fun.) She was only 4'11'', and I remember her counters were very low since they were made just for her, with real linoleum countertops and floors. There was a Swing-A-Way can opener mounted to the wall above the sink. She had a big electric turkey roaster sitting on a stand next to the door, and used the shelves in the stand for storage. There was a gas stove, cast iron pans, and she made wonderful breakfasts with real butter and cream that the milkman left on her porch in glass bottles. I learned about pan-frying toast from her, which I still make today. Whenever she made her famous cinnamon rolls, we would line up and hover until those gorgeous pans of rolls came out of the oven. The one who got the roll from the center, claimed the ''prize''. She also made potato dinner rolls, which we loved, and would always complain those rolls took all day to make, and only 10 minutes to devour. There was a mammoth upright freezer on her back porch, and she would make kool-aid popsicles in metal ice-cube trays for us. She always had a tea cart set with the coffeepot, cups, creamer and sugar, with room on the lower shelves for dessert on plates. The tea cart would get wheeled into the dining room and be standing by for ''after dinner''. She inspired in me a love of baking, which I only got to do at home using boxed cake mixes. It was all I was ever allowed to use, although I wouldn't think of using one now! I never realized it until just now, but I think she also taught me how to prepare a dinner by having everything ready when we sat down to eat. That kitchen was always so full of good smells and interesting activities, it's how I think a real kitchen should function today for me.

The houses I grew up in , one was so small it didn't have counters in the kitchen. The sink was so small you had to wash dishes in a pan on the table and rinse in the sink. The second house we lived in had a huge kitchen and lots of counters but by the time we lived there, I wasn't old enough to cook by my self. The last house I lived in had a small kitchen also , no counter tops to speak of , but it had a huge sink with a built in drain board. We ate in the kitchen because there was no dining room in this house. But I learned to cook in that kitchen by watching my mother as she made many meals. I learned how to make her famous chicken and dumplings(called sliders by some). Mine always turns out very tasty but it never tastes like hers did . My mother was not one to leave out an ingredient when giving a copy of the recipe.I remember each one of those houses and all the time I spent with my mom in the kitchen. Thanks for starting this thread, it brought back many memories.

Oh, great thread, Lindac! I love reading everyone's memories.

I grew up in my grandma's kitchen. (My mother was and is an abysmal cook and never wanted us in the way when she had to cook).

Grandma's kitchen was always full of music--or Paul Harvey. She kept a radio on the window sill between the kitchen and the back porch, and it was always on when she cooked.

The kitchen had a black and white tile floor, and when Grandma waxed it, we kids always wanted to sit in a chair and watch it dry. I have no idea why we loved that so much, but I suspect Grandma encouraged it because it gave her a much-needed break from us. The stove wall had ivy wall paper, and there was a curtain over the cabinet below the sink.

The first thing we saw as we walked in from the dining room was a narrow wooden work table with a pull out drawer; it always had a big glass canister full of Planter's peanuts. The icebox and, later, the refrigerator was next and the back door to the porch right behind that. The kitchen table where we ate most of our meals was on the back wall. We only used the dining room on holidays and when we had company. On Sunday nights, we got to eat in the living room while watching Lassie. If Sunday dinner had been a beef roast, we ate roast beef sandwiches. Otherwise, we had BLTs and we ALWAYS had Campbell's vegetable beef soup with it.

To the left of the kitchen table was the sink wall. There was a big window full of African violets over the sink, and a huge porcelain drainboard attached to the sink. My sister and I both had long, thick hair, and Mama or Grandma would have us lie on the drainboard to get our hair washed. I know there were curtains on the window, but I don't remember what they looked like--maybe they had strawberries on them?

The gas stove was on the last wall. There was a black metal match box on the wall and a metal grease pan on the back of the stove. The coffee pot was always there, too. On especially cold days, Grandma would open the oven door and let my sister and me use it as a table, sitting on pillows on the floor and eating in the warmth from the stove. I remember sitting there in the fall, too, waiting for the parched pecans (from our trees and picked out by my grandpa on the front porch) to cool enough to eat.

Beside the stove was the flour crock--a huge thing with a dough bowl covered by a hand-carved lid in the top. I think Grandma made biscuits in that bowl every day of her adult life. They were our staff of life. We'd eat them with bacon, ham, or sausage and eggs for breakfast, Grandma and Grandpa crumbled the leftovers into buttermilk for lunch, and we'd have a fresh batch for supper. Often we had them with tomato gravy. At those rare meals when she didn't make biscuits, Grandma always told us we'd have to make do with light bread :)

Fruit and vegetables were almost exclusively from the garden, canned in the big old pressure cooker. Any time it came out, we kids got shooed out of the kitchen amid tales of a great aunt who'd been killed when a pressure cooker exploded. It took years before I could try canning food, and then I had to buy a new canner even though Grandma's is sitting in my pantry. All the canned food was stored in an old cabinet on the back porch.

Strange--I don't remember ever eating outside except when we had watermelon. Meals were always inside.

I just remembered something that I can't believe I forgot.

My Oma had a parrot in her kitchen that used to whistle the Colonel Bogey March. Every time I hear that song I think of her and that darn bird in the kitchen.

LOL! No one could make that up!!