My favorite apartment only had one drawer in the kitchen. When you opened the oven door, you became trapped in 4 square feet. And if you opened the refrigerator door at the same time, those 4 became 2½. But there was something magical about that sailboat sized galley. I could make enough treats for 40 every cookie Thursday in that miniature kitchen without breaking a sweat.
Today, the granite topped island I use is 45 square feet. That’s just a fraction of the total area. I have more counter-space than that little box had in floor space. It’s beautiful to look at, that great expanse of rock. And yet I struggle. Sure, I still enjoy making a cibatta, but it isn’t as intuitive as before. I’ve almost cut my fingers off with my 10″ Henckele more times than I can count.
Between the two, the smaller kitchen was right handed, and the larger is left-handed. You wouldn’t think this makes much of a difference until you have to cook in each. Think about washing dishes and putting them into a rack or dishwasher. How about chopping carrots, or wiping your workspace into your under-mount sink, or turning towards the fridge, or taking a boiling pot of pasta off the stove and putting it into a strainer. Imagine having the sink on the wrong side. Or the garbage can. That’s the difference.
Today, a house just a few doors down from the one we are purchasing was listed on-line. It has a very similar floor plan, and the kitchen has been redone in just the same way as I imagined. It was like a super realistic virtual reality program. And I liked what I saw.
Comments on this entry are closed.