I've endured months of construction as the old house outside my kitchen window was gutted and glammed up to it's current asking price of 2 million dollars. It's show-time, the weather is currently perfect and the realtor flings the patio doors wide open.
I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, especially on my days off. I can spend an entire day there. I crank up the music while I plan, create and eat and while I'm eating, I'm thinking about what I'm going to cook next. My kitchen is a disaster...most days. I can, and have, used every pot and bowl and mixing tool I own. The dishes, pots, and pans pile up precariously in and around the sink, on the stove top and around my cutting board. I'm like the Tazmanian Devil in the kitchen. When I run out of surface space I create new ones by putting a cutting board or baking sheet on the stove top or on top of my dutch oven. It's ridiculous. Of course, that means I spend a lot of time at the kitchen sink...looking out of this window...into a very different kitchen.
A few feet away, is a mega-modern, brand spankin' new, Architectural Digest worthy kitchen. Along with it's fancy Thermador appliances, walnut cabinets, stone counters and track lighting, it's all tricked up for show- complete with a cookbook propped up in it's clear acrylic stand along side a tall, thin green bottle of olive oil in the middle of an expansive grey stone counter top. That kitchen is perfection with it's open plan and breakfast bar. It tries to mock me, but I won't let it.
The little kitchen is old...really, really old. It looks like a rustic little farm kitchen. Just to the right of the window, is my pantry cupboard. It's narrow and runs floor to ceiling. It used to be an ice-box. The little kitchen needs an industrial power clean and a paint job. The tiles are cracked, the grout is black and the cupboards either stick or slowly creak open. The windows don't close properly and the refrigerator puddles and generates loud rumbling farts in the middle of the night.
It's a crappy little kitchen but it suits me. I wonder how my Madonna sing-alongs will go over with new neighbors.