澳彩开奖记录

Rather than drone on about romantic menus or venues or listing a bunch of places you can go to buy chocolates for your sweetheart, this year for Valentine鈥檚 Day we asked a handful of Mainers to tell us about one item in their kitchen that they love. Several 鈥 me included 鈥 struggled to narrow it down, which I like to think proves there鈥檚 more than enough love to go around.

Should it be my KitchenAid? I was just 24 when I bought it, and it was, by far, the most expensive thing I鈥檇 ever purchased. It鈥檚 boring, old white; back then, this Cadillac of stand mixers didn鈥檛 come in snazzy Mint Julep, Lavender Cream or such. It鈥檚 got just a few speeds, and the same basic mechanical lever that adjusts them also turns it on and off. I love it for its durability, reliability and simplicity, compared to, say, my TV remote, which has 38 baffling buttons. I ask you! Also, the mixer has been a steadfast friend on many moves, finding spots on kitchen counters in more than 10 apartments in Vermont, New York City, Houston, Boston and Portland. Over the years and the miles, it鈥檚 produced thousands of cakes and cookies. That KitchenAid has dispensed a lot of calories and a lot of joy.

What about the German-made plates I use for breakfast and lunch? I love their solid feel in my hand, their groovy, late-1960s shape and their orange-red hue. I bought them on the streets of Philadelphia decades ago. My sister, Carolyn, and I had a tradition of wandering around our hometown the Friday after Thanksgiving. One such afternoon, we met a German woman sitting on the steps of a row house selling items in a box. She was moving in with her fianc茅, she said, so culling her dishware. I snapped it up. My plates are an everyday reminder of some happy mashups 鈥 Thanksgivings past, the town where I grew up, my beloved sister. I hope the German woman and her fellow found lasting love.

This bobblehead doll is one of food editor Peggy Grodinsky鈥檚 treasured kitchen objects. Photo by Peggy Grodinksy

Then there is the goofy bobblehead doll that stands on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, a gift from Southern Foodways Alliance. Even if the kitchen is a disaster, literally a hot mess, or I鈥檝e burned the last piece of toast, its bouncing corncob-shaped head can make me smile.

It occurs to me that I could write an entire essay about objects of love in my own kitchen. I鈥檝e barely scratched the surface. I bet you could the same. The Mainers I spoke with had no trouble looking around their kitchens and finding items 鈥 and meaning. They named objects of beauty, of nostalgia, of use and sometimes all three at once. One surprise was how often these objects had something to do with coffee or tea, though I suspect that was random chance. Unsurprisingly, since love and loss can go hand in hand, we heard about loss, too.

鈥淚 love this piece you are doing,鈥 Portland resident Sarah Kelly Reid told me, 鈥渂ecause kitchens are the heart of the home in so many ways. We all gather there. If there are family events or parties, everyone migrates to standing around the kitchen.鈥

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These conversations have been edited for length and clarity.


Carrie Scanga and her husband, Ron Harrity, in their kitchen. Derek Davis/Staff Photographer

CARRIE SCANGA, Portland; artist and Bowdoin professor of art

鈥淥n the back of my pantry door, I have hanging our calendar from Pickwick Independent Press, the community print shop. Different artist members of the print shop make the image and the design for each month. For 10 or 15 years now, we鈥檝e been buying this calendar every year, and we don鈥檛 look ahead at it, so we don鈥檛 know what the artwork is going to be. But we know that when we turn the page at the beginning of the month, we are going to have a new piece of original artwork on our wall. That鈥檚 actually my favorite thing in the kitchen.

A screen print by artist Cornelia Walworth from the 2024 Pickwick Calendar in the kitchen of Carrie Scanga and Ron Harrity. Derek Davis/Staff Photographer

鈥淚 hoard them. I keep them on the top of the pantry shelf, all in the same spot. We are not a hoarding household. It鈥檚 just this pleasure, a true pleasure of the ephemeral. It鈥檚 kind of a throwaway. It鈥檚 not like an amazing artwork that has to be kept. You know what I mean? It鈥檚 not an elevated piece of high art. But it connects me to Portland and to artists, and it鈥檚 a treat, a monthly treat to unwrap.

鈥淭he kitchen is that ephemeral place. It鈥檚 a creative space, but things come and go. It鈥檚 a place of process, not product. Raw ingredients go in, people gather, food gets made, people eat, the kitchen gets cleaned up. And that鈥檚 how I think about the calendar. Our house is full of art, because we are artists. This calendar, the artwork is only supposed to last for a month. It is perfect for the kitchen. It鈥檚 by accident that it鈥檚 there 鈥 but not really. It鈥檚 perfectly fitting. It鈥檚 beautiful artwork handmade by someone in the community, but it鈥檚 not meant to last. It鈥檚 very similar in that way (to meals). It feels a little bit like time passing in a delightful way that feeds you.鈥

Identical spatulas in the kitchen of Carrie Scanga and Ron Harrity at their Portland home. Derek Davis/Staff Photographer

RON HARRITY, Portland; musician (in bands Anderson and #admin) and art director at Ethos Marketing, husband of Carrie Scanga

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鈥淭his is something Carrie introduced me to. I believe it鈥檚 a Pennsylvania Dutch tool. I can鈥檛 remember where we got it. It鈥檚 essentially like a little spatula. It鈥檚 metal. It鈥檚 very simple. But when we met, Carrie had two of them and they were always dirty and always being used, so we ordered more. So actually, there are four favorite objects. It鈥檚 the thing that 鈥 for whatever reason 鈥 I use it almost every time I cook, which is hilarious. We have four but I feel like I could order more and still use them. I may have to email you the name of this thing. It has a very long name. It鈥檚 like the all-purpose something something something. I feel a little sentimental about it, because it鈥檚 part of (Carrie鈥檚) Pennsylvania heritage, and that鈥檚 how I found out about it. It鈥檚 pretty unremarkable. If I showed it to somebody, they鈥檇 be like, yeah, it鈥檚 a spatula. But it鈥檚 a typical Amish style, sort of a sleeper hit.鈥 (Harrity later emailed the name: All-in-one Kitchen Tool Spatula)


Emily Cook holds a dainty teacup that once belonged to her grandmother. She uses it for strong coffee. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer

EMILY COOK, Augusta; director of communications at Maine Department of Secretary of State

鈥淚 have a set of teacups that were my mom鈥檚 parents. The bottom says they are 鈥榬eal English ironstone from Adams, which is a member of the Wedgewood Group.鈥 It looks like it was established in 1657 in England. I don鈥檛 know how old they are. I got a Nespresso several years ago, and now make one or two pretty much every day. I think it鈥檚 funny that these dainty little teacups get my very strong double espresso every morning, but they are the perfect size for it. I have all eight of the teacups and only seven saucers and a variety of other pieces from what once was a larger set. They can鈥檛 go in the microwave because they are too old for that. They are really cute, and I love that they are family stuff. I just sort of ended up with them. I think I just needed dishes the first time I was not living with my parents. My mom went to the basement and said, 鈥榃ell, here are the family dishes. Now you have dishes.鈥 We are not big on throwing things away. I love that something that was probably intended for a much more elegant purpose turns out to be exactly the right size for something a little more strong. But also, it鈥檚 something that I literally use every day. I don鈥檛 love buying a ton of new stuff when you don鈥檛 have to, so something that is so old being so right for today鈥檚 world is great. They are not just sitting in some very cute teacup collection. They are still living their useful lives.鈥


DONNA WALTER, Cumberland; an avid home cook and canner, who began cooking and gardening organically in 1974

鈥淚鈥檒l preface it with saying, I don鈥檛 have any sentimental objects left from grandparents, or anything, because they were destroyed in the 鈥89 earthquake in California, including all my handmade pottery. So it was starting all over again. After that, I thought Tupperware was pretty cool because it survived. Anything that was breakable except for four dishes in the dishwasher was pretty much destroyed. So it鈥檚 tough to say favorite thing, because obviously things have changed over the years.

鈥淚f it鈥檚 in the morning, it鈥檚 definitely a Bialetti coffeemaker. It鈥檚 turned out to be a favorite 鈥檆ause it makes great coffee. Then there is the Cuisinart that my future mother-in-law and and my mother bought together back in 1974 before (my late husband and I) were married, and I still have the same Cuisinart. And the other thing in my kitchen area that brings me joy is a big, blue unplugged speaker where I can listen to music and dance around the kitchen while I鈥檓 cooking.鈥

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The antique samovar, which is now about 100 years old, that Reza Jalali bought in Istanbul decades ago and still has in his home. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer

REZA JALALI, Falmouth; writer, educator and former executive director of the Greater Portland Immigrant Welcome Center

鈥淚 have a long list, so my difficulty would be which one to talk about. In particular for a displaced person, such as myself, since I came to Maine as a refugee, such objects, even though insignificant at other times 鈥 I mean if I was not displaced and I was in my own home country, some of these items that I would mention would not have any importance to me. But living in exile, you try to create this life that is really kind of artificial, to surround yourself with things that remind you of home, the communities you left behind.

Reza Jalali at his home in Falmouth. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer

鈥淪o in that list, I would have a samovar, I don鈥檛 know if you鈥檙e familiar. Samovar is very popular to this day in making tea. Please remember I am from Iran, and Iran is a neighbor of Russia or was a neighbor of the former Soviet Union, but other than that, we鈥檝e always had this historic not-so-good, not-so-bad relationship with the Russians going back to the 18th century, so no wonder you would find a samovar in every Iranian home 鈥 with the teapot on top of it.

鈥淵ou boil the water in the samovar. You get your tea out. No tea bags here. We are talking about some serious teamaking process. You brew the tea by adding hot water to the loose tea, and placing the teapot on top of the samovar. The hissing sound of samovar has always been part of my childhood 鈥 always. The samovar is always on in an Iranian home.

鈥淭he last time I was in Istanbul, I bought this gorgeous antique samovar from an Armenian-owned store, and he gave me the whole story how the samovar came to the store. Now I don鈥檛 know if he took me for a fool as a tourist, but I love the story regardless. Maybe I paid $40 too much, but do you think I care? As a storyteller, I would have been happy to pay $400 just to get the story.

鈥淲ithout getting into depth, Turkey was home to many, many Armenian families who have lived there for centuries. As Armenians were leaving Istanbul and Turkey for good (during the 1915 genocide), some by choice, some were forced to sell, and the first thing they would sell were all their household items. The gentleman who sold (the samovar) to me claimed, and I鈥檝e no reason to disbelieve him, that it had belonged to such an Armenian family. As a displaced person myself, I love that story. How only this thing would remain from this community or family or neighborhood who have all vanished. That鈥檚 a universal story everywhere.鈥

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Jillian Brazel, Portland; illustrator, marketing/communications director at Fork Food Lab

鈥淚鈥檓 looking around in my kitchen right now. I have this little teapot. I picked it up from the Granite General Store in Round Pond when I lived in the Midcoast. It says, 鈥楳ake today ridiculously amazing!鈥 with an exclamation point. It always cheers me up when I make some tea in it. I tend to use it when I鈥檓 feeling down. It鈥檒l catch my eye 聽鈥 I have it out where I can see it 鈥 and I鈥檒l be like, 鈥榊ou know what? I need to make tea. I need to make today amaaazing.鈥 I was Christmas shopping for other people, so I wasn鈥檛 even supposed to be buying myself anything at that moment. But it was just like, 鈥業 need to have this.鈥 It was a total impulse buy. It鈥檚 just so cute and so encouraging. And if the bar is too high, you can just cut it off 鈥 well, make today ridiculous then.鈥


Ainsley Wallace, West Falmouth; president and CEO of the University of Southern Maine Foundation, mom, amateur storyteller (Moth story slam winner)

Wallace鈥檚 kitchen before. Photo by Ainsley Wallace

鈥淭he thing I love in my kitchen is my cabinets, especially because I hated them at first. We had to move in the heat of the pandemic 鈥 from a little house in Portland we had loved and had made our own to an outdated 鈥90s colonial in the woods of West Falmouth. My dad had died of COVID, and three weeks later, my mom had had a stroke. We were moving to a place with an attached apartment, so my mom could recuperate, and though I knew it was the right thing to do, I was bummed, nowhere more than looking at the 鈥90s builder-grade kitchen with outdated oak cabinets and green laminate countertops. This house felt like it was at the top of our price range, and so putting more money into updates wasn鈥檛 in the cards (and at that time no one was available to do work anyhow!). I felt that the kitchen was the heart of the home, and the centerpiece of this house, and I decided to at least start to make that space feel less ugh and more us.

Wallace鈥檚 Kitchen after. Photo by Ainsley Wallace

鈥淥ver the years, I鈥檝e become a DIYer and developed my own eye for design. I turned to the internet for inspiration. I found a kitchen with these bold greyish sage cabinets, which I thought were so striking! I had never done anything like that, and I lacked confidence, so I consulted with someone who purports to be an interior design expert. She immediately warned me against the color. She told me that I鈥檇 regret not going with classic white. But I just couldn鈥檛 let the Pewter Sage cabinets go! So, defying her advice and trusting my gut, I ordered a professional-grade paint sprayer and made trips over to our new house late at night and early in the morning, following an online tutorial to prep and spray these cabinets and drawers. I ordered new hardware. And when I put them back up 鈥 they looked just as good as I had dreamt. To this day, I get so many compliments on the color and get asked who did our cabinets.

鈥淪o for me, these cabinets signify a lot of things: Trusting my instincts, turning lemons into lemonade, creativity, resilience, taking change one step at a time and my ability to transform a place into a home. Since that time, I鈥檝e done a lot of kitchen updates 鈥 but nothing means as much to me as those cabinets.鈥

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Sarah Kelly Reid with a handmade family cookbook her mother made her and three sand dollars from Higgins Beach, which she keeps in her kitchen. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer

SARAH KELLY REID, Portland; co-founder of The Art of Self-Worth, which offers coaching, courses and retreats to help people be their authentic selves

鈥淚t鈥檚 between two things. I think I would grab my recipe book that鈥檚 handmade. My mom made it for me many years ago, with recipes from our family and friends. I think it was a birthday present. I use it all the time. And I love it. There鈥檚 even a recipe from my great-grandmother 鈥 Scottish mince and tatties. It has her handwriting on it. To see her handwriting in a recipe? It just feels so connected through the generations. I make it. All the time. And I know it by heart, but I still get out the recipe book every time I make it. And as much as I have wanted to write new recipes in (the cookbook). I often just print things out and shove them in. (The recipe book) is so beautiful, the pieces I keep up are a little chaotic. But that is life.

鈥淭he other thing is we have three sand dollars on a shelf in our kitchen that鈥檚 right above our sink. I found them the day that I thought I was pregnant with my daughter, before we knew for sure. And there are two big ones and a little one. I found them on Higgins Beach, which for Valentine鈥檚 Day 鈥 my husband and I, our very first walk was on Higgins Beach. We got engaged on Higgins Beach. And we got married on Higgins Beach. And then I found the sand dollars.鈥

Reid鈥檚 handmade family cookbook her mother made her and three sand dollars from Higgins Beach. Brianna Soukup/Staff Photographer

SCOTS MINCE AND TATTIES RECIPE

The recipe comes from Mary Davidson Clark, who is Sarah Kelly Reid鈥檚 great-grandmother. According to Reid鈥檚 mother, Clark would serve the dish with 鈥渢atties鈥 (boiled potatoes) and 鈥渘eeps鈥 (turnips). The neatly typed recipe was clearly clipped from somewhere, but the version below includes Clark鈥檚 additions, noted in her own hand, as well as some clarifying instructions from Reid鈥檚 mother. Later generations of the family have greased the pan with olive oil instead of suet.

Suet to grease pan (or olive oil)
1 medium onion
1 pound (2 cups) minced beef, firmly packed (ask the butcher to double-grind the meat)
1 tablespoon flour
Salt and pepper
1 录 cups beef stock (or water)
1 level tablespoon raw oatmeal or 1/2 cup breadcrumbs
2 bay leaves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon sugar

Chop the onion and saut茅 it in a frying pan in olive oil (or grease the pan with suet). Add the ground meat and brown, then stir in the flour. Season with salt and pepper. Drain, then return the mix to the pan and stir in the beef stock (or water) and oatmeal (or breadcrumbs). The stock should just cover the meat mixture. Add the bay leaves, nutmeg and sugar. Simmer on low, uncovered, for about 20 minutes, adding more beef stock as necessary to be sure the mix has some gravy.

Serve with potatoes and turnips. Reid said she always serves with peas instead of turnips. 鈥淎s generations go on, changes are made. :),鈥 she wrote in an email.


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