This is my kitchen.
This is where all the magic takes place. Well, so to speak.
Mostly, it is where I begin my morning with a little dance in my underwear, where I unintentionally flash my neighbors, where I admire the sunset while doing the dishes, and where I more often than not, make a mess.
I love this kitchen. It’s wonderfully untidy with cupboards overflowing with Japanese food and wine glasses. I love our random knick knacks, souvenirs, and tacky High School Musical stickers.
I love the perpetually dusty lamp, which some days looks kitschy, and some days, plain hideous. I love the tiny sink where FB has to stoop and where the calcium build-up never seems to end, despite repeated Viakal scrubbage. There is a nasty burn on one of the cupboards, sustained when my Rice Cooker 2.0 (I am now using Rice Cooker 3.0) exploded in flames. I now cook my rice on the marble floor.
Every item in this kitchen is dear to me, from Cesare and Delia’s calendar to big-busted “Britni” from a San Diego souvenir shop. Every item has been touched by someone I love, and holds memories and meaning beyond words.