OPEN INVITATION

I love my kitchen, even if we have grown a bit estranged since I have been living in the house alone. I am a bit less willing. She is a bit less inviting. But despite our more muted relationship of late, I still defend her tooth and nail (yes, it is a she: a cozinha (PT), la cocina (SP), la cucina (IT)). With my kitchen so well placed in my heart, it was to my chagrin to hear someone very dear to me recently tell me she does not feel comfortable in my kitchen. In fact, her discomfort is such that she would rather avoid cooking and eating in my kitchen all together. Oh, the pain!

I have been ruminating on this for a few days now.

I have been reminiscing about how I have almost always had a convivial relationship with my kitchen. Even in times where I have been less than eager to cook and eat at home, I have always loved the kitchen. And the same is true for pretty much everyone I have ever lived with. My housemates and I always formed small bonds with our communal kitchen. Yet it dawned on me that those who do not form part of my daily space are likely less inclined to feel the natural intimacy that comes with the myriad quotidian moments shared with the beloved kitchen. Convivial relationships are only formed by frequent interaction.

So, understanding the cause, but not resigning myself to the effect, I decided to have a serious heart-to-heart with my dear kitchen (it involved my eating ice cream sublimely at the table in the half-light of the afternoon). And this was the result: we have a common goal, she and I, to make the kitchen more inviting to everyone who wishes the experience. And here is a personal, step-by-step guide on how to I made it happen (documented in real time):

1) Move the worm compost to the basement.

There is nothing hygienically compromising about keeping well-fed, vegetarian worms in my kitchen. They will never leave their home unless I neglect to offer them fresh produce and woodchips. They will never emit noxious odors as long as I refrain from dumping most animal-based food in the bin. They will never produce any gaseous byproduct, and their liquid byproduct is captured periodically in a jar and mixed with water to spray on the houseplants as natural pest control. Nevertheless, I have long abandoned the proverbial (read: small) city apartment. I actually occupy a spacious two-bedroom house with a basement, a small back patio and a sizable, gated front patio. So there is no longer any logical reason to flaunt my squirming pets to my squeamish guests. Plus, my friends know I am a walking idiosyncrasy even without meeting my strange house pets.

2) Get rid of the smoothie stain on the ceiling.

A byproduct of the explosion caused by a smoothie I carelessly let ferment in a hard plastic bottle in front of the kitchen window in the 34C-degree heat of this city, the stain on my ceiling is long past its quirkiness expiration date. Cleaning my food performance art requires acrobatics, creative cleaning techniques and frequent pauses so I do not grow lightheaded with my head pulled back, forced to stare hard at the murky spots on my white ceiling, wondering how it is possible that I ever liked the childhood game of trying to balance an object on my forehead while spinning stupidly around. I consider calling on the neighbor’s kids to see if they will enjoy the game of going dizzy while cleaning the ceiling, but I do not have a ladder. Or accident insurance. Or any way to cover indemnity for child labor. I do this slowly and take coffee breaks.

3) Limit the pots and pans and box up the overflow.

These are all a legacy of the last few tenants. Considering that I rarely entertain more than six people at a time, knowing that my stove has only four burners and resigning myself to the fact that my oven has but a single rack, my holding on to triple my capacity to cook and store is just a waste of space and of necessary visual calm. I separate the essential, box the rest and then set the boxes aside for the rightful owners to come reclaim their leftovers. I also remove the pots and pans from beneath the kitchen sink, leaving this area free for …  see point 5.

4) Detach the ugly microwave support from the wall.

The support’s recent utility as a makeshift base for the elastic I use to imitate a rowing machine and put in my gym sets between translations still does not hide the object’s utter gaudiness. I could go out and buy a microwave, but I hate microwaves. I always have. In briefly entertaining the purchase of a microwave and in just as briefly deciding absolutely against such an idea, I experience one of the moments of satisfaction that comes from living alone – the steps I take to accommodate others need not come at the cost of a certain degree of hard-earned solipsism. Of course, removing this eyesore requires taking my wrench from the scary closet in the basement (where lizards and cockroaches like to hang out). But in the name of my project to revamp the kitchen and create a small haven for friends (the biped ones), I face the basement closet, quickly find the wrench and trudge upstairs. And then… I incarnate Rosie the Riveter. I sweat. I grunt. I manage to detach the bolts. I. Take. Back. The. Wall.

5) Integrate the pantry. Hide the garbage bins. Move the stove. Clear the counter.

I remove the gross doors to the pantry and leave it open. I put the pots and pans I am keeping neatly on the top shelf, plates and silverware beautifully on the second shelf, and certain foodstuff in inviting glass jars on the third shelf. I also place recycle bins beneath the lowest concrete shelf, and the garbage bin beneath the sink. That just makes plain sense. It is now easier to sweep the floor, the dog can no longer paw out papers and shred them for entertainment (especially just before guests come for dinner), and the visual clutter is considerably decreased yet again. I then move the stove to the other side of the sink, leaving a sense of more openness in the kitchen, and clear off most of the counter, save for the drying rack, now neatly tucked into a corner.

6) Plant plants.

This is my last step – a living herb garden. Herbal and decorative plants are now everywhere in my kitchen. Rosemary, basil, some-out-of-control mint, rue, sweet onion, Echinacea and even a small pomegranate shrub that is producing little baby pomegranates. Life is green. The aromas are wonderful. I am smiling a lot.

Come visit! Come eat!