Bonus Blog: Anne Dishes (and Does the Dishes)
Jack has been doing a great job blogging and keeping you all up on the day-to-day progress of our kitchen nightmar…I mean, remodel… but he’s not telling you everything. Here’s how it really is.
So, I’m the cook here, and the whole reason we’re doing this is because, as a birthday present, Jack gave me his “endorsement” for redoing the kitchen. Very sweet and romantic, especially since I was all wishy-washy and afraid to spend the money on it (totally ridiculous when you realize that all the major expenses of this project are due to my “tastes”).
Truth is… it’s not very romantic at all. I feel like I’m trapped in a Peter Mayle novel, except that it’s “Two months in Somma-ville” (hopefully not a year), and this is not the Languedoc or Provence. Instead of delicious tales of wine, 3-star Michelin restaurants, and boule tournaments surrounding a home improvement project, we get to eat take-out and play phone tag with tile designers. I keep looking out the window in hopes of seeing quirky Frenchmen tossing balls in the backyard, but they are just not there.
I got on the scale yesterday. Three pounds heavier since the project started. It’s only been a week. Multiply that by six weeks (the estimated project length) and… well, thank goodness I’m not very good at math. I really don’t want to know. This is especially tragic considering I was hoping to wear this slinky top I bought from Chloe Dao herself (Project Runway fans take note) for a few holiday parties. Ummm…maybe next year.
One thing I’ve always loved about being “the cook” in the relationship is that Jack always does the dishes. In fact, he’s so passionate about it that he would criticize my dishwasher loading technique and politely (and sometimes no-so-politely) insists that I leave the room. Bonus for me: first choice of evening TV. Since we have no dishwasher at the moment, Jack’s well… just not that into it.
After a week of piled-up, cemented-on take-out remnants, I just couldn’t take it anymore. So there I was-outfitted in a beautiful dinner dress (who am I becoming, Donna Reed?), lugging pails of glassware and plates up the stairs to the bathroom sink. Scrub scrub in the sink, then rinse rinse in the bathtub. Classy. I had to put the dish drainer on the floor, but as soon as I started lining up the newly sparkling dishes, Ruskin and Clyde huddled close together licking every single one. OK, dishwashing project take two. Now, because there were breakables, I carried glasses down the stairs two at a time to the dining room, then back up…about seven trips total. Maybe I worked off some of those three pounds, but seriously. New house rule: no more glassware.
Look for future posts when I talk about what’s it’s really like to green a kitchen, as well as 21 ways to contain a cat and how to fail miserably at every single one.