To begin with, I would have a kitchen well lighted; come, yes a great deal of the broad, expansive sunlight coming in boldly, as if it had a perfect right to be there. That would, of course, necessitate large windows. And then I would give as much attention to the ventilation of a kitchen as I would to a sleeping-room. I would have a large circular device suspended over the cooking-stove, with a hole in the centre, and a tube leading to the top of the house, to carry off the savory smells which the process of cooking generates, and prevent them from permeating the whole house.
For these smells, however savory and agreeable, are apt to take away something from the keenness of our appetite; or, at least, cause us to anticipate something better than the reality. Then I would have a large sink, with a permanent soap-stone or marble wash-bowl for washing the dishes, and another for draining. I would also have an adjustable pipe, leading from the hot water tank to either of these basins. Besides this, I would have sundry cupboards and closets arranged upon the wall, so as to be tasteful and decorative as well as convenient.
Then I would have a space devoted to tiny drawers, such as one sees in a drug store, and labeled in this manner: soda, allspice, nutmegs, cream of tartar, etc., so that at a single glance I could discover just what I wanted, without rummaging to find these things in some out-of-the-way corner, placed there by some careless, untidy Bridget. This would save one a world of care now devoted to instructing every new servant as to all the places of things. Cooking is becoming so complicated nowadays, that one needs all the arrangements, and as many utensils, as a chemical laboratory; and the good architect should give the mater familias a place for everything.
from the May 1870 issue of MANUFACTURER AND BUILDER
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