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.