From Thursday, July 23, 2009
I came home from work yesterday – yes, work, the concierge world could only last so long without me – to the door slightly ajar and smells of dinner wafting into the hallway. Leaving the door open is the only way to cook in our apartment if we don’t want our overly sensitive smoke detector to notify the whole floor that something is going on over in 5812. So we’ve learned that cross ventilation between the living room windows and the front door needs to start no less than, like, five hours ahead of time.
Anyway, I walked in to one of my favorites sights – Steve manning the stove, contents of the refrigerator covering the countertops. But I know what you’re thinking by looking at that picture. Marie, you’re so lucky to have such a sexy microwave and eighties cabinetry. That I am. Don’t hate.
And what’s with the bottle of bubbly? Well, that’s what happens when you prepare to move overseas. You start cleaning out the pantry and refrigerator and find reasons to toast Wednesdays. So here’s to you, Eighties Kitchen. You’re not the prettiest girl, but you sure can cook.