cucina, cucina

May 22, 2020

I’ve looked at a lot of kitchens this year. I’ve thought about corian versus caesarstone, brass taps versus stainless steel, gas versus electric. I’ve looked at dozens of shades of white oak, white paint, and more pulls, knobs and levers than you can imagine. I’ve thought about farmhouse sinks and integrated ones, and I’ve thought about the pros and cons of a concrete one. I’ve thought about open shelving versus closed cabinets. I’ve thought about appliances and where they go. I’ve even measured my dinner plates. What I know about kitchens, is that we make them work, even when they don’t make sense. In fact, we get so used to their impracticalities and imperfections, that we don’t even notice them. The fridge in our rental juts out, and needs a big push to make sure it’s closed. There is no counter space. Our old kitchen on Robert Street was totally lopsided, had little counter space, and was a theme park for rodents. The kitchen in the first home Jason and I shared hadn’t been updated in over thirty years, (the ceiling eventually caved in, literally) and our tiny galley kitchen in Florence provided barely enough space to boil an egg. But I have gotten used to each and every one, and I have loved each and every one. To be honest, I’m not quite sure how it will feel to live in a kitchen that is as beautiful, and as thoughtfully designed as the one we’re moving into. Wonderful, no doubt. But I’ll always love the higgledy piggledy, makes-no-sense, jam-packed-with-charm kitchens that came before.

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