There’s been a rash of food blog kitchen porn lately, so I thought I’d offer my own, somewhat twisted take on the subject.
I moved in with Mr. Food Musings because I loved him, but I wasn’t blinded by Cupid. I was honest with myself about his faults: collecting magazines by the hundreds, leaving his keys who-knows-where, a hideously ugly kitchen. I loved him enough to look past all but the last one.
It wasn’t his fault the thing was so ugly, after all. He’d begun renting the place in the late nineties, and the landlord hadn’t bothered to update the kitchen in between tenants. He didn’t have to – it was the dot com boom and San Francisco apartments were scarcer than weapons of mass destruction in the sands of Iraq. Besides, the kitchen had its virtues: decent light, tons of room, nearly enough cabinet space.
But before a month was up, the kitchen and I were locked in a battle that I swore I’d win, even if it killed me. If you’ll permit me a moment of melodrama, I’ll tell you something: it almost did.
Round 1, or An easy win
On our first date, Mr. Food Musings had invited me over for dinner (he cooked! Isn’t that sweet?). I noticed a dearth of good counter space, but that’s a fair complaint about almost any kitchen. In his case, however, it was pretty bad: he had one small work surface. 24 square inches. He’d rigged up a cutting board/table as a second surface and it worked just fine, but it was still paltry. Lucky for us, shortly after I moved in we found a chrome-topped island with room for a few bottles of wine and pots and pans below, snapped it up at a bargain price from CostCo, and went home to put it together.
Several hours and fifty-six threatened break-ups later, it was done. I got Mr. FM to help me move the refrigerator from one corner to another and cheerfully called it a night. “There’s more where that came from, Mr. Kitchen,” I thought to myself. I’m sure I was smirking when I turned off the light.
Round 2, or How I realize I’ve underestimated my opponent
I’ve never, ever lived in the “perfect place.” I’ve always rented and figured if I could get my bathroom at least looking good I’d accomplished something. All to say, I’ve learned to be forgiving of a few flaws. But after several months cooking in this kitchen, I was feeling defeated. I had come to refer to it as The Ugliest Kitchen on the Planet, preparing friends and family for what they’d find when they came to visit, and cutting off any attempts at making me feel better with a Supremes-inspired “STOP! It’s ugly, just embrace it.”
Hideous is really more apt. The cheap linoleum floors are patterned in a nauseating 1970s color palette of avocado, mustard yellow and silly putty gray. The floor is, without a doubt, the bane of the kitchen. One day while staring it down, I had a brainstorm. I purposefully marched down to the storage unit in the garage and lugged my green and yellow striped Pottery Barn rug back up the two flights of stairs. I figured the less of the floor I could see, the better. Unfortunately the miasma of ugliness immediately consumed the carpet like flesh-eating bacteria having their way with an arm or leg. I left the rug there. I hadn’t the heart to roll it back up or, more importantly, cede victory to my opponent.
Round 3, or A fit of madness
By this time we’d acquired a second rug, this one a small, bright fruit-covered number that sat at the foot of the sink. This was Mr. FM's purchase and, though it was probably cute in the store, it did not do a damn thing for the kitchen other than attract crumbs.
The combination of the floor with the oven –- a prehistoric orange number, not a lovely, bright, peppy sort of orange, but a dull, burnt sienna –- and the flimsy, warped mud-colored cupboards had started to make me sick. I’m not a priss or a romantic, but all the ugliness was wearing on me. What’s more, I was beginning to suspect the oven was possessed. After a while, it seemed to be saying, "Come on, why don't you just stick your head in? It's so nice and warm in here, and you can't see the kitchen from inside." As if the talking out loud weren't proof enough, the temperature was finicky. Sometimes things cooked perfectly in the time indicated on the recipe, other times they were still raw in twice the time. It was erratic and frustrating. To combat the esthetic toll, I had taken to running from the kitchen for breathers every fifteen minutes or so. I’d claim to be overcome by onions, walk into the living room and count to ten, then steel myself to go back in.
One day, in a fit of madness, I burst into tears. I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to be done.
Mr. FM and I discussed the possibilities. They consisted of the following:
1) Move
2) Pay to have the cabinets replaced and new floors put in, with no hope of reimbursement from the landlord
3) Paint
We opted for the latter, and set about choosing a sunny shade of yellow. Ignoring a friend’s advice about how yellow hues multiply when applied to all four walls, we chose badly. Very badly. Soon I was cooking in the Big Banana.
Round 4, or The psychotic break
I was having a bad week. I was trying to write two magazine article and writer’s block had reared its ugly head. I sought solace in baking, but the kitchen kept distracting and depressing me. Between that and the cursor’s taunts from my blank computer screen, I was in a fragile state. What happened is too awful to relate in detail, but suffice it to say that in a personal essay published some weeks later, I note of the day I hit bottom: "I dissolved in a hysterical heap on the kitchen's ugly linoleum floor, writhing in transcendental agony."
That about sums it up.
Round 5, The Surrender
Eventually there was nothing more to do. It was either me or the kitchen, and so I accepted my fate. I had to. I still harbor fantasies of granite countertops and hardwood floors, of warm golden walls and appliances that behave, but until then, I’ve managed to make peace with the Ugliest Kitchen on the Planet. I won’t live here forever, but it will always be ugly, and somehow, perversely, that gives me a certain smug degree of satisfaction.
The kitchen is 2nd only to the bedroom as the most important room in a house! We redid ours as soon as possible after moving here. BUT, it's worse to you than to anyone else, & just think of all the wonderful things that come out of it!!
Posted by: Mom | November 02, 2005 at 04:06 AM
Oh I know how you feel, this new kitchen is sooooo small, and the bench surface is just plain weird!
But, I figure each delicious home made item is a point to me ;) LOL
Posted by: clare eats | November 02, 2005 at 04:12 AM
Clare -- hmm, good point. I like the way you think!
Posted by: Catherine | November 03, 2005 at 08:11 AM
Oooohhhh, I so feel your pain! I have also suffered through some terrible, awful, no-good, very bad kitchens. I had one with maybe LESS work surface area than 24 inches. Ugh. But I have to say that it must be good for your creative side, because this post was hilarious! Loved it. Breaking it up into rounds - the final breakdown - Knockout!
Posted by: Jennifer | November 03, 2005 at 01:06 PM
Jennifer -- I have a feeling that in all renters, there's a story like mine waiting to be shared.
Posted by: Catherine | November 03, 2005 at 04:32 PM
At least you have a kitchen!!!!
But, it is all about the food, not where it is cooked.
Posted by: Bill | November 03, 2005 at 06:19 PM
Bill, LOL! Too true...
Posted by: Catherine | November 03, 2005 at 08:59 PM
I'd put up with the butt-ugly linoleum if I could have more drawer and cupboard space. Especially drawers. I have one. Yes... that's right. ONE. As far as I'm concerned--that ain't enough. Count your blessings with the space :)
Posted by: Nerissa | November 04, 2005 at 06:22 AM
I'd put up with the butt-ugly linoleum if I could have more drawer and cupboard space. Especially drawers. I have one. Yes... that's right. ONE. As far as I'm concerned--that ain't enough. Count your blessings with the space :)
PS: Thanks for dropping by my spot. I have enjoyed reading here. I will return! :)
Posted by: Nerissa | November 04, 2005 at 06:24 AM
Nerissa -- ONE???!!! Yikes. The linoleum floor may yet get a kiss from me.
Posted by: Catherine | November 04, 2005 at 08:24 AM
Fantastic post! I actually laughed out loud. And isn't is strange how it only takes reading about others' misfortune to me us realize how lucky we are? I'm feeling MUCH better about my own kitchen, which I used to consider a windowless shoebox turned on one end - at least it's got wooden floors (though it also only has one drawer! %&$*^!). But really, I do appreciate the reminder that this is not the last kitchen I'll ever have, so might as well make peace with it as you've done :) p.s. Don't we get to see any pictures?
Posted by: Melissa | November 04, 2005 at 09:52 AM
Melissa -- hmmm. I'll think about it. But be warned -- it ain't pretty!
Posted by: Catherine | November 04, 2005 at 10:51 AM