Kiss your Kenmoresby Bridget Stuart
I've just made a move to a nice new rental home. So today, let's hold hands and explore together the wonderful world of what real estate agents like to call my new "high end kitchen".
Ta-da! Let's start with the Sub Zero refrigerator. It's built into the cabinetry, so you don't even know it's there. But why hide a refrigerator, you ask? (It's not, like, a toilet or something.) I suspect it's because this is a colonial farmer's kitchen, with wide pine boards and exposed beams, and colonial farmers didn't have refrigerators. Wouldn't want to spoil the illusion (which is only an illusion if you're among the sheltered few who believe colonial farmers also had granite countertops).
Regardless, the "high end" fridge does have one feature I've never encountered before, which no one should have to live without: the nag-o-meter. The nifty nag-o-meter actually starts to bleep at you incessantly if you leave the refrigerator door open longer than ten seconds. Ten seconds? I'm lucky if I've remembered what I wanted from the fridge in that amount of time, much less retrieved it. Then, when the friggin' bleeping gets started, I forget *everything* except how annoying it is--which only means I spend more time with the door open, wracking my brain. Eggs? Orange juice? Lettuce? Close the door and start over?
Which brings us to another nifty "high end" appliance...the microwave with a handy "built-in-bitch" feature. This is in addition to a visual display which actually shows you an animated featurette of corn popping when you hit the "popcorn" button, though if you could be troubled to move your eyes one millimeter to the left, you can see the real thing happening through the glass door. But let me not be distracted from explaining the ingenious "built-in-bitch". If you leave your cooked stuff in the microwave longer than, you guessed it, ten seconds, it starts to play a perky little micro-tune. Da-da-dee-da-dee-da-dee, dee. Other microwaves might have a beep, but this one sings to you. And keeps on singing until you get the stuff out. My kids and I have even come up with words to the tune: I'd better not share them.
Instead, come, let me lead you to gape at the fabulous "Farmer's Sink"! It's porcelain-- a big white rectangle of gorgeousness. And it slopes gently upward in the middle. Ladies, this means *the sink doesn't drain*. Everything that goes into the sink ends up collecting in one of the four corners, requiring ten to twenty minutes of scrubbing and splashing to force it to run down the pipes. It would be easier if there were a hand held spray head, but of course Colonial farmers didn't have flexible spray hoses in their kitchens--ergo, none here. I hate to think of how much my kindly, wonderful landlords paid to have this smug monster installed.
You know all this stuff was designed by men. Men who never cleaned a sink or spent any time in a kitchen in their lives. "Farmer's Sink", huh. I hate to think what's next. The 'Farmer's Washing Machine' (silver-plated board in a stream)? The 'Farmer's Shower' (golden buckets in an authentic outdoor lean-to?) Let your imagination run free.
And kiss your Kenmores.