We apparently don’t not have enough power in our multipurpose room to boil water and run this machine at the same time. We had to get rid of our traditional toaster because it’s too dusty now, much like everything else in the house. I thought I was being clever when I found this, which can also act as an oven, but it needs more juice than the room can handle. So… #NoKitchenNoProblem
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Yesterday, before leaving for the day, I put a turkey roast and vegetables in the outdoor crockpot. Feeling especially smug, I even got busy with the (indoor) rice cooker.A couple of hours later, from about five miles away, I couldn’t remember if I’d turned the crockpot on. (More than once I’ve come home, expecting to be greeted by the aromas of slow cooking, only to find a crockpot of raw food.)
I text a friend, S., who lives nearby, and on her way out, she checked the pot: all systems go.
Three hours later, worried about over-cooking, I texted another friend and neighbor, R., and asked her to run over and flip the roast.
I was feeling pretty good about things when the roast was cooked to perfection at 6. I felt less good when my 16 year old ate half the roast before anyone sat down to dinner and I had to order Chinese.
Oh, and it seems I forgot to turn the rice cooker on.
Sometimes you really can’t win.
Because the kitchen renovation has me making toast in one room, coffee in another, and eggs in a third, this is where I plug in the crockpot.Outside. On our back steps.
Several hours after I plugged it in, M came home for a meeting with the contractor, architect and engineer and sends out a message to our family Snapchat group (hush, now): RAIN!
Even though Weatherbug showed zero chance of precipitation, it was pouring.
I immediately sent him a hysterical tweet: BRISKET IN YARD. PLEASE CHECK THE BRISKET!!!!
Turns out, the meat was fine — or so I’m told. Also turns out brisket is even better when it’s cooked outside — who knew? It was quite an operation getting it back into the kitchen, or at least I made it look that way. I made a big show of it as I passed by the team of men in whose hands the fate of my kitchen rests, huffing and puffing as I walked through.
Now I just have to wash the crockpot out in the downstairs toilet.
Our ground floor is a construction site. Sort of. A group of men came in, demolished two thirds of the floor, ripped out our kitchen, and then completely disappeared. It has been two weeks since I have seen anyone working. They tell me this is normal. But enough about that.
I have long been wanting a coffee maker in my bedroom. I do not like waking up and having to work out how best to passive-aggressively ask M to go downstairs and make me a cup of coffee. (M can shower, get dressed and do all sorts of things without the assistance of caffeine, but I cannot.) Now that our kitchen is basically a hot plate and a kettle — which cannot be used simultaneously lest the entire room lose power — I had good reason to move the machine upstairs.
I don’t know what took me so long! Now I can drink black coffee (the cheaper the better) before I have to talk to anyone, before I have to take more than 20 steps. I may have to plug the Crock Pot in outside (more on that later) and keep the toaster in the bathroom (who doesn’t want to eat a bagel on the toilet?), but I do it all while very well caffeinated.
Given that we may not have a kitchen until mid-2020, I am going to need all the coffee I can get.
I don’t know what took me so long.
Because we have a barely functioning ground floor and a garden party bat mitzvah happening tomorrow, we rented a toilet trailer. Thanks to a A Royal Flush rentals, I’ll know where everyone is peeing.
(I don’t think M could have been any more excited. He ran a few victory laps around the trailer.)
We even get to put in a CD so people can pee with musical accompaniment.
Taking musical suggestions now…
I came home from an early run to find this in our very narrow driveway.For some reason, I keep referring to this as a skip, which nobody else seems to understand. It’s smaller than average because the driveway was designed for a Model-T and anything larger would get stuck. (Which I learned the hard way…)
After months of waiting, crying in the building department, and all but offering myself up to the gods of Yonkers (because, surely there is more than one), we finally got our construction permit. Still, we weren’t starting anytime soon. Our contractor told us we’d have to wait a few weeks while he finished up the job he took when we got delayed.
And then, in a text, he told us he could start in 48 hours. (I’m trying to ignore the nagging feeling that this guy may not have been the best choice, but I’m keeping that to myself for now.)
Here’s what I learned:
1. It helps to have a pogrom (or three) in your DNA. Polish ancestry means one thing if you’re Jewish: You can pack in a flash, even when there aren’t Cossacks at the door. As I used my great-grandmother’s linen tablecloths to wrap my dishes (once the newspaper ran out), I had enough time to hum the entire score of Fiddler. Good times.
2. Jet lag is AWESOME when you have stuff to do! Turns out, keeping my watch on NY time during our trip may have kept me awake the entire time, but it didn’t ensure that I’d come home on local time. (Who knew?) So, I hopped out of bed at 3.45 AM and got cracking on packing the kitchen and tossing anything that does not bring me pleasure. (This was a good thing. Because M is no fan of throwing out anything and believes this whole de-cluttering movement is nothing more than an excuse to buy more shit, I usually have to toss things under cover of darkness.)
3. I was put on this earth to answer the question: How many glass jars can one person own?
4. I apparently also have a thing for egg cups.
5. M has a thing for free water bottles. The shittier the bottle, the more we have. If you happen to need one, there will be a box of them in front of our house as of 4AM. (shhh.)
I’ve been awake for over a week and I have miles to go.
If Marie Kondo calls, I’ll be throwing out egg cups.