[John] burst through the kitchen door and was greeted by a wave of warm, steamy air that was scented with onions and apples, bread, and some kind of meat. His mother stood with her back to him, her left arm down on the work surface, her right elbow up in the air, doing battle with a bowl of something on the counter. There was a bowl of pickled beets and a plate of bread on the kitchen table in the center of the room, waiting to be moved to the dining room. Best of all though, was a round platter piled high with fat, golden brown sausages that glistened with fat still bubbling on the surface. They were resting gloriously on a bed of steaming sauerkraut laced with thinly sliced, caramel-colored onions.