goodbye, kitchen

Goodbye, kitchen.

Goodbye, countertops. You measure a little less than two feet across but were just wide enough. (Okay, not quite.)

Goodbye, pitifully small Modern Chef gas oven that produced slanted cakes, countless meals and on one occasion, stopped working right before a dinner party. Modern Chef, I wish I knew how old you were. At what point in time were you considered modern? How many meals have you cooked in your lifetime? You seem as permanent as our apartment’s crown molding and wood floors; an old fixture that should never be changed. Sorry, new tenants.

Goodbye stupid gap between the stove and the counter where many crumbs, dog kibbles and other random bits of food fell and disappeared forever.

Goodbye pesky nail in the floor that snags socks and stubs toes.

Goodbye shelves that held pint glasses and bowls and vases and cookbooks. How many times have I stood on tiptoe to grab the Joy of Cooking, afraid it would fall on my head and knock me out cold, causing me to stub my toe on the exposed nail on the way down?

Goodbye refrigerator covered in beloved magnets and photos that have moved from apartment to apartment. The William Wegman magnetized clipboard from my college dorm room, the photos of babies who are now toddlers, the group shots at weddings, all of us smiling and in one place. But most of all, I’ll miss you, grease-spattered snapshot of my parents’ dog chewing a toy. You always kept me company while I stood at the stove.

Goodbye refrigerator door, rigged with masking tape, barely holding on for dear life.

Goodbye creaky floorboards that announce everyone’s arrival before they are seen.

Goodbye mouse that peeks out from the stovetop burners, leaving little presents for us in the morning on the kitchen counter. I will not miss you rattling around in the dark, always pausing when we tiptoe into the kitchen with malice in our hearts. Have fun with your new housemates!

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I cooked seven-plus years of meals in this narrow space, learning to clean as I go, to multitask, to prep in advance, to stack a cutting board atop a pot when things get crowded. Like a line cook’s station, my kitchen was compact yet organized. There might as well be a worn spot in the place where I stood for so many hours, chopping and stirring, always with an ear attuned to the living room when friends came over.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve complained about the railroad-style room, its worn appliances, lack of amenities. Old buildings have their retro charms, but they do not have dishwashers. And so, we’re packing up and moving a few blocks away to a new place with a brand new kitchen. I’m already thinking about my first party, the first thing I’ll cook on my virgin stove.

But I’m also thinking about Modern Chef and all the meals that came out of that hallway. The friends who congregated in our living room and where they are now, scattered all over the map. It’s funny that the most entertaining I may ever do in my life was in such a bare-bones place. 

It was a good run, old kitchen.