Sloppy Joe's Kitchen

The following is a paper I wrote in a writing class last year. It might bring back memories.

The Wonders of a Plastic Kitchen Play Set

“It’s time for Sloppy Joe’s Kitchen,” squeaked Ben’s little voice from the basement. This was possibly the most exciting time of the week. The plastic kitchen play set Joanna had received for Christmas became a wonderful tool of imagination as my older brothers masterfully modeled The Frugal Gourmet and other cooking shows, creating a unique and imaginative show of their own. The show was broadcast from our basement, and even without real technology, was somehow heard all throughout the house.

Sloppy Joe, my older brother Joseph, perfectly fit the role of head chef. He was sloppy, absentminded, and good at throwing things around and making messes. Ben was a good host, with his annoying little brother attitude and a natural propensity for speech. And we, the younger sisters, were of course non-participants, being diverted from the audience. We were devoted viewers, never missing an episode.

Mom was not a fan of Sloppy Joe’s Kitchen. It might have been the racket that floated up through the house, the clutter of plastic foodstuffs left lying around the basement, or the fact that it riled us up so much that we had a hard time settling down, but she did not enjoy the show and tried her best to censor it. As we know, however, a classic always survives, and so did Sloppy Joe’s Kitchen.

I don’t remember any particular dish created in Sloppy Joe’s Kitchen. Come to think of it, I don’t really remember anything that went on in the show. I just remember that somehow, plastic hamburger patties and buns, lettuce and tomatoes, and what resembled a slice of plastic cheese flew through the air as a masterpiece was created. I remember the genius and humor of my brothers as they collaborated in their mischief. And I remember that we were wildly entertained.

It’s amazing what kids come up with when given something to work with. Objects that were intended to entertain domestic little girls became tools of communication for my silly older brothers. Our dolls and other playthings were set aside as we became real participants in the imaginings of our brothers. We were transported to a magic world of our own creating and entertained for hours. It was not, however, a completely ideal world.

“Kids,” Mom said sternly. “Go back downstairs and don’t come up until the basement is clean.”

And the adventure begins again…