Moved

Yesterday we moved. What does this mean to my stomach? A whole new kitchen. A NEW KITCHEN. Of course, not really new.

My old kitchen was new. Brand new. It had a ceramic stove top and a giant self cleaning oven. A huge refrigerator that made ice cubes, a giant dishwasher. Stainless steel everything. Granite countertops. I hated it. It had no personality (well, maybe sort of stuck up) and no history and I was always worried I was going to break something. Not to mention my habit of burning/melting things on that sci-fi stove top. (Burned and/or melted: two spatulas, three cutting boards, silicon oven mitt, one cotton towel, 1/4 of my food processor, tea pot, and many, many dishes of food that I thought I had set on a cool burner but was actually not only hot, but still on). Well, live and learn: I need burners.

My new kitchen is not new. My stove is about a foot and half wide. It has coil burners (thank god). The burner heat is controlled by push buttons, like the kind on an old blender, and only has 5 settings. It says GE and it means it (think curly blue letters embossed on a silver background). The oven is also itty bitty and is definitely not self cleaning. The counters are pink. Well, maybe not pink but sort of rosy. And they have a bowling alley print on them. You know what I mean- think neon boomerangs. Needless to say, my new kitchen is bomb-ass awesome.

But I haven't told you the best part. The best part is- we have a table. A KITCHEN TABLE. Where I can sit and eat dinner and breakfast at a normal height. No more cowering over my coffee table trying to keep the cats tails out of my food. No more eating in front of the TV (even if it is off, it still seems wrong). And it also means I can really sit and enjoy a meal. I can take my time. I can appreciate the work I put into and the work others put into getting it to me. I can take a minute and just look at my food. I can eat the way eating is meant to be.

I love my new kitchen- I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.