I spend a lot of time here. There was no preconceived design. No dream kitchen. This galley evolved as I found myself cooking more and more. When you – the parents – lay out a philosophy on how you wish to feed your family, the execution and equipment follow. As the beef Bourguignonned, I would hammer drill some racks to hold my pots and hang a ladle and some tongs. The curry needs a half hour to bubble, I’ll hang these cabinets. And so it went.
Sure, I should have slapped some paint up. I should also remove the old light fitting from the retired wiring. At this point, I might miss it. It’s art now.
When the baby is sleeping and I’ve done my brush cutting duty, I come here and think about food. What do I do for dinner? Those leftovers, ginger- onion stir-fry, over cooked broccoli, potato dauphinoise, intense tomato sauce, roast pork, how can I move this? This is my happy place. It’s warm. It’s warm from the oven cooking meringue that I’m making because I made blanquette de Veau a few days ago. It’s warm from Fremont the wood burner heating “The Mess” and this galley because of a thick, red velvet curtain, curtainsy of Ikea, that traps the warmth.
I see a backsplash I should mount properly, but I don’t because it’s easier to clean this way and besides, I need to work out the tile-to-wall gap. I see duck fat, lard and butter ready for action. I see dishes backed-up do to weekend kids and craziness. I see a kozmo.com magnet that I cherish because it reminds me of crazy times when people believed in crazy ideas.
I love this little kitchen of ours. The hours I spend here challenge me to build something yummy with what I have right now in this fridge, in this house. The hours I spend here feed my family. We feed them well so they can grow.
If you paint you’ll lose all that nicotine history.
heh. yeah. Gascon Taupe thirty years in the making.
Also, Brent, somehow, somewhere, a wooden, black cat silhouette is watching you.