In A German Kitchen - a tale of woe

The soul of the tasteful kitchen

No corner left unchallenged by art.

The eggcup collection

When you step inside a German kitchen, you’re afraid to touch anything.  Afraid to take a step, in case there’s a wrinkle on your shirt, or a scuff on your shoes that might spoil the magic of almost mythical perfection. Immaculately spotless.  Organizationally correct.  Scoured, polished, and decorated to the height of nonchalant art.

“Come on in,” says a woman who is dressed in a classically, tasteful style. Adorned in bright colors that accent her short coiffure, dazzling blue eyes, and perfect complexion. 

Pity that disorganized hag, Martha Stewart.

As she cooks, everything seems to be at her fingertips and HOLY BEAST OF FIRE, there’s enough counter space.  When and where in the world have you ever seen enough counter space?  When have you ever cooked without having a short, but powerful conversation with the almighty, to help you locate that one important tool, or that single ingredient that was just on the shelf only moments ago?  And yes, you’re sure it was there because you just bought it at the supermarket and put it RIGHT THERE!

But, alas, although you will never attain culinary perfection yourself, without a brain transplant and strategically placed mousetraps that keep unwanted hands from reorganizing your partially functional chaos, you somehow feel better knowing perfection does exist somewhere, in a kitchen far away.

Overcome by awe and raw emotion, I sinfully ask, “Will you marry me?”

“You’re already married.”  God, how women love to humiliate and abuse!

“Well, let me rent a discrete apartment where we can meet in tawdry secrecy and you can cook for me, feed me from polished spoons, and take me to culinary heaven, if you know what I mean…and I think you do.  It’s spargel season!  Oh my lusty spears!  Feed me stalks of that ambrosial white asparagus, lashed with hollandaise!  I promise your brutish husband will never find out.”

Soon, I will relate the vivid and inspiring detail of how she did just that, minus the rented apartment.  Of course, her husband and my wife were there, but what is a man without his dreams?

What is a kitchen without a view of the garden?

Prost!