I have a kitchen. Of course, I do. I have a house and houses have kitchen. If I didn’t have a kitchen, we’d have to refer to it as a cabin or a rustic lodge. But I have a house, therefore, I have a kitchen.
I must keep telling myself this.
I have all of the parts of a kitchen: oven, stove, sink, fridge. I even have a dishwasher and a trash compactor. I have countertops and cabinets. I have a really cool pantry that seems to fold out endlessly, making tremendously smart use of a small space. It’s fun to organize. My friends all want one.
But what they don’t want is my kitchen. My teeny, tiny kitchen. The kitchen that, when you are on one side and need a spoon from the other side, you have to be careful not to turn around too fast or you will hurt yourself on that same spoon. The kitchen where you can stand in the center and touch every side.
|An absolutely to scale drawing of my home.|
This is painful, really. You have heard of cooks who like to be alone in the kitchen? It’s a necessity in my house. Two people in the kitchen and you have asses cracking against each other. When you have a particularly rowdy pan spattering the slightest bit of oil or water, no one in the kitchen is safe — including the entire floor, all appliances and cabinets. If one person is peering into the fridge, the other is trapped in the kitchen — as the fridge door blocks all access in and out. This phenomenon has given rise to the phrase “kitchtrophobia.”
There are upsides to a kitchen smaller than the one in the efficiency apartment Lisa and I once shared. When I’m standing at the stove and need something from the fridge, I don’t have to move. When I need to add water to a boiling pot, I just flick on the faucet and the stream ricochets nicely into the pan. If I need a piece of Tupperware, I just pop open a cabinet and it all comes falling out and drops nicely into my cooking food.
I tried to take a photo of my kitchen so you could see I’m not exaggerating. I delayed writing this post because I needed a little time to clean up the kitchen to take the photo. So, I did, but immediately had to fix dinner, which made it messy again. There is no end to this madness — and I don’t mean in the way everyone’s kitchen has a cycle of messy going on in it. I mean, if I make a bowl of cereal or a salad, the only open counter space is now a mess which, therefore, makes the whole operation look like the dinner rush at the food court just happened.
I’m so happy grilling season is upon us!