Iron Chef: Remodeler's Challenge
I look up from my place at the computer to see my husband squatting in front of two stools, carefully separating out egg yokes into a series of bowls perched on the bar stools. Good thing we registered for the mixing bowls with anti-slip bottoms.
He asks where he might find a measuring cup, and since I can't readily direct him, he pulls out the stack of paper cups we are using, notes they are nine ounce cups and calculates how full he needs to fill it in order to arrive at the proper measurement.
The microwave beeps over by where it is plugged in, smack-dab in front of our only door. At least we still have a box long enough and wide enough to rest it on. Very much longer and we may decide to add wheels to the box.
Speaking of resting on boxes, S.O.S. and I have been doing that for some time. 15 uniform boxes set side-by-side makes an excellent bed frame for an air mattress. And when it comes time to add spices, we know where they are by what position they held in the boxes grid. It's like playing Battleship only without the sunken ships.
The knife block sits on the step stool and the stove does double-duty as heat source and counter-top. Paper towels are on top of the bookshelf behind three rows of boxes; napkins are still providing padding.
It turns out to be a good thing we haven't yet added wheels to the box beneath the microwave... the flat surface laying idle and exposed in front of the door is too much to resist, and that, too becomes prepping space.
All those fancy kitchen shows start off with a pristine kitchen fully stocked, with acres upon acres of counters. What kind of a challenge is that? I want to see what happens when you give one of those chefs 120 square inches of counter, all of their supplies in boxes, and a pantry that is twice as deep as it is wide.
Well... I must go. I am the judge of this Remodeler's Challenge. (But insider's note: This Chef has already won, no competition necessary.)
He asks where he might find a measuring cup, and since I can't readily direct him, he pulls out the stack of paper cups we are using, notes they are nine ounce cups and calculates how full he needs to fill it in order to arrive at the proper measurement.
The microwave beeps over by where it is plugged in, smack-dab in front of our only door. At least we still have a box long enough and wide enough to rest it on. Very much longer and we may decide to add wheels to the box.
Speaking of resting on boxes, S.O.S. and I have been doing that for some time. 15 uniform boxes set side-by-side makes an excellent bed frame for an air mattress. And when it comes time to add spices, we know where they are by what position they held in the boxes grid. It's like playing Battleship only without the sunken ships.
The knife block sits on the step stool and the stove does double-duty as heat source and counter-top. Paper towels are on top of the bookshelf behind three rows of boxes; napkins are still providing padding.
It turns out to be a good thing we haven't yet added wheels to the box beneath the microwave... the flat surface laying idle and exposed in front of the door is too much to resist, and that, too becomes prepping space.
All those fancy kitchen shows start off with a pristine kitchen fully stocked, with acres upon acres of counters. What kind of a challenge is that? I want to see what happens when you give one of those chefs 120 square inches of counter, all of their supplies in boxes, and a pantry that is twice as deep as it is wide.
Well... I must go. I am the judge of this Remodeler's Challenge. (But insider's note: This Chef has already won, no competition necessary.)
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