A kitchen by any other name...

It was a rainy, cold and dismal morning. I woke up feeling just like the weather, chilled and cross. Never being a huge fan of breakfast, I rarely, if ever shuffle into the kitchen and think: just the day for a french omelet and blueberry scones. My idea of breakfast, (if I decide to eat it at all) is more like a cold slice of last nights pizza and a coke with lots of ice. I must confess that not only am I not a huge lover of the first meal of the day, but my mastery of the art of cooking is .... well, lets just say I'm pretty much talent free when it comes to "cheffing it up". You could cart my stove out the back door, and I wouldn't bat an eyelash, but if you took the microwave you would definitely have a fight on your hands. My only epicurean proficiency is pushing the little button that says cook, or sometimes defrost if I don't have on my glasses. I lean against the counter with no anticipation, waiting for all the atoms and molecules to clang around inside the little metal box, and serve me up a steaming helping of vulcanized rubber. Surprisingly, I never have the patience to wait for the little electronic bell to ding, even though I know full well what the outcome will be. A molten nuclear concoction somewhere between a Stouffers hot pocket and roofing tar. Oh well, a pair of Teflon gloves, a bottle of ketchup, and voila: breakfast is served. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stand in front of this foreign creature with the name KitchenAid tucked into the right corner of his door. A thin silver plate, declaring who he is, much like the sticky backed (My Name Is:) tags that are handed out at public events. A paper badge screaming out your identity, making you feel individual and exposed, all at the same time. This rectangular patch plastered haphazardly on a shirtfront, deceptively conveying a sense of familiarity to complete strangers. True to life, I would have no inkling at all as to who KitchenAid is. My only clue being the tattooed moniker on his chest. I stare defiantly at this stranger with a haughty fear masked as indifference. My squinted gaze looks him over like a gun slinging rival at the O K corral. I saunter around him, nervous and distrusting. Sizing him up from hood to broiler, while pacing back and forth in my best Clint Eastwood imitation, complete with an itchy trigger finger. He stands there like a stainless steel sentinel, cool, stoic and untouched, an enameled frontier squatter daring the true landowner to challenge him. My eyes eventually rest on the digital clock smack dab in the middle of his control panel. An illuminated warning sign, flashing tin star bright, proclaiming who the real sheriff is in this kitchen. Three years after staking his claim on my property, and still blinking neon, menacing green at 12:00. (I never dared to get close enough to adjust the time) Wondering if he is trying to tell me whether it is midnight or high noon (either equally appropriate for a gun fight), I prepare for a showdown. I take one last look at the name riveted across his shiny, metal breast, resisting the urge to say: "go ahead punk, make my day". I brazenly draw my weapon of choice, a cookbook. With false bravado and cowboy stubbornness fueling my impetus, (Ive always hated to be told no, or that I can't) I muscle my way through this attempt at cookery like Custer at Little Bighorn, not yet knowing if this too will be my first and "last stand". I stiffened my spine, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work. I followed each recipe to the pinch, dash and teaspoon. I mixed, whipped, folded and buttered with a determination of a maverick wrangler, rustling up grub like my life depended on it. I flipped pancakes and eggs with an unwavering hand, while the bacon spit and sizzled in a pan nearby. When I finished, I surveyed my fantastic, misshapen, lumpy hot cakes, heavenly, gelatinous, undercooked omelet and glorious, charcoal pork strips with a self satisfying triumph. I felt like I had just won the blue ribbon at the Pillsbury Bake Off. I took no notice of the kitchen that looked like a war torn battlefield. Blackened pots, random kitchen gadgets, broken eggs, and overturned salt boxes; counters and floor strewn with the casualties of war. I finally conquered my "Alamo", and had no time to cry over spilt milk. I was way too busy busting my buttons with western pride. Wiping my flour sweaty brow with a scorched potholder, I sat down to my homespun feast. Trying extremely hard not to boast or brag, I pointed out all the morning culinary delights to the only other person at the table. Standing there, her arms folded, apron smooth, neat and tidy, with just a hint of a smile forming around her mouth: Mrs. Butterworth was quiet and still, but somehow I knew that she was proud too.




Kitchens. No longer just the utilitarian, dismal cramped quarters of yesteryear. Kitchens now, are not only practical and functional, but they have become the star of many homes. Whether your taste runs sleek and futuristic, or more toward the rustic and quaint, the sky is the limit. If you have the budget, a smart kitchen is a cutting edge option. Microwaves read bar codes from packages to cook your pre packaged food perfectly. Convection heating can cut your cooking time in half. You can wake up to your morning java already brewed with programmable coffee makers. Icebox counter tops can keep your perishable food items cool without the need of a refrigerator. You can activate your appliances with ease, all from the touch of a computer screen, or a cell phone. If your pocketbook isn't quite big enough to afford these space age conveniences, even today's standard appliances pack a technology wallop your grandmother never dreamed of. Besides the finger touch readiness we enjoy in this new millennium, kitchens have become so much more than a mundane place to bake a tuna noodle casserole. They have evolved into family hubs that encourage so much more than food. Functionality has definitely evolved, but the wow factor of modern kitchens has been ramped up to a level that is equal to the beauty of the rest of the home. Just a place to store can goods, and house the oven has forever been replaced with gloriously efficient and attractive spaces. Kitchens are now multi functioning, livable, work and play areas that can be as unique and individual as you are. This room is now allowed to be beautiful and comfortable, without losing any of its function. Today's kitchens run the gamut from A to Z when it comes to design. Whether you prefer the slick, cool vibe of a minimalist environment, or the warm, comforting feeling of a bygone era; you're options are virtually endless. Luxurious, Eco friendly, Budget conscious or Campfire, there is something for everyone. More than ever before, the kitchen is truly the heart of the home. So, if your cucina, cantina or cafe is leaving you hungry for something more, take the fatted calf by the horns and make your kitchen all that you want it to be.
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