The thing about people who cook is that our kitchens aren’t always what you expect. Many are small and cramped, with cluttered counters and utility shelves housing appliance overload in the corner near the spot where the dog eats his dinner. Function beats glamour for cooks. Our whole MO is to work with what we have to make the best possible meal to serve. Would we love state-of-the-art beauty and function? Absolutely! Can we create great meals without it? You bet.
Is it embarrassing, nonetheless? 100%
I don’t want anyone to see my quaint little cocoon of a kitchen with recipes stuck to the side of the fridge and a drain tray of drying dishes. I work in my kitchen. I don’t always have time to polish fingerprints off the stainless steel or ensure my teatowels match the decor. My counter is a holding ground for frequently used oils and spices, jars of honey, and seven different kinds of salt. And our home is old, which means the kitchen is too.
The cupboards are painted white and chipped with wear around the handles. There is a spot worn entirely bare from the dog trying to break into the cupboard door that hides the trash. We keep this tied shut with a shoelace, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. The hood range is almond, and our appliances are stainless steel. A sunflower yellow counter, stained and scratched and beginning to lift at the mitered seam, assaults me every time I enter the room. I often wonder where the original owner found something so vile. I’ve hung fabulous wallpaper in the perfect shade of mustard to play off the counter as decorative and retro, but it just looks like a hat purchased to disguise a bad haircut. It screams, “There’s nothing to see here - except the big yellow elephant.”
We’ve been planning a renovation for years, but the reality of living in an older home is that renovations must be tackled in order of importance. Safety and maintenance trump aesthetics every time. So the kitchen keeps waiting.
In the meantime, I keep cooking. The yellow counter and the broken spatula drawer don’t prevent me from feeding my family or making food for ill friends. The quality of my kitchen is not indicative of the food that gets created there. It does not dull the laughter or cork the joy. My family still gravitates there - milling around, tasting and snacking, and talking about life. The cats still sit on the cracked tile in front of the treat cupboard, not bothered at all. No one ever says, “I’m not coming for Thanksgiving dinner because your kitchen is ugly and outdated.” They just squeeze in and grab a tea towel to help dry the dishes.
I appreciate my kitchen - love it like a comfy old sweater. It is the heart of our home. The tired, steadfast heart held together with stained oven mitts and fridge magnets, shoelaces, and miscellaneous items stashed over the pantry.
My kitchen is beautiful.
Whoo, boy - when you see it though... - she sure ain't a looker!
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