The Drawer

There was a drawer in my childhood kitchen. If it wasn't made of actual walnut, it was definitely made of walnut-veneered wood, and sat beneath the silverware drawer, which sat beneath the mustard-colored formica countertop. The drawer had no heft and seemed to always be falling off its tracking likely due to the many dozens of times a day we'd open and close it.

My mom kept a strange array of items in the drawer -- there was a basket where she stored her onions and garlic. In the corner, wrapped in the coil of its wire, was the electric hand-mixer that matched the countertop and that I still use every Thanksgiving to whip warm milk into mashed potatoes. (Unlike me, my mom does not update for the sake of updating. She uses something until it's broken.) And on top of all these items were any number of boxes from Grand Union's baked good aisle. Which shouldn't be confused with the actual bakery, which would indicate that something fresh was involved -- not that the term "fresh" meant an…