Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Establishment, if you will

I’m in college, and I live as close as I can afford to a big city.  Boston, to be exact.  What this means, most importantly means, is that I have a painfully and pathetically small kitchen.  In fact, it hurts sometimes. 
I’m telling you right now, I don’t even care about the rest of my apartment.  Yeah, it’s small too, and yeah, I can’t walk around my bed without kicking walls and/or a dresser.  But the bruises on my feet pale in comparison to the bruises my kitchen leaves on my heart.
Take a look at the picture if you don’t believe me.  What you see is literally all there is to it.  You might be thinking to yourself, “Hmm… that oven looks a little small but… I’m probably just imagining it.” But you’re not imagining it!  It really is an oven that should have been made for a toy kitchen set, one step above an Easy-Bake Oven, just like you thought. You may also be thinking to yourself, “This girl really needs to clean out her bookshelf/makeshift pantry,” and there’s a small, but rather unlikely chance that you’d be right about that too.
But seriously.  I moved here straight from my parents’ house in Colorado, (which I now think of as “extremely, luxuriously, almost unearthly, spacious”) and I brought with me a plethora of kitchen utensils, pans, and cookie sheets, all of which seemed totally reasonable.  I immediately realized that half of my baking equipment doesn’t even come close to fitting into this joke of an oven.
I then came to notice the rest of this hallway with a refrigerator, if you will.  Whilst searching for a place to stow my useless baking sheets, I came across the drawer.  The ONLY drawer.  Not long after, I realized that my baking sheets couldn’t even fit into the cabinets.  I knew then that this was clearly a cruel, east-coast joke that I just wouldn’t understand being from the mid-west and all.  But, alas, it was no joke.
Still, I was convinced to continue to bake and cook while living here.  Actually, I happen to still be convinced.  My first cookies were completely burned on the bottom and near raw on the top.  You see, in such a small oven heat circulation is, oh, I’m going to go with non-existent.  This has resulted in the use of child-sized baking pans and lowering the temperature of the oven to make anything even remotely edible for humans.
Both times I cooked a Thanksgiving dinner meal here, (I was too broke to fly home) we ended up eating literally hours later than expected because roasting a turkey in this oven is something of an ill-advised adventure.
I now know that this “oven” is real and is often referred to as an “apartment-sized” oven to east-coasters.  I still think of it as a child’s dream and an adult’s nightmare, but whatever.  As a final note, the bookshelf full of food in the picture was not included.  I’m still perplexed as to where food is supposed to be stored in a kitchen like this, but I guess some things will always remain a mystery.

2 comments:

  1. Wow - that is small! I started in cramped quarters too (although not that cramped). It will pay off :)

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  2. @PinkCakeBox- Thanks! I'll have to keep that in mind haha.

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