1. A rainbow collection of cast-iron cookware collected over the years: the green one given to me by my father in college along with my first (and still, best) kitchen knife, the orange one a birthday present from a friend last year (thanks, Kirsten!), the blue one scored for 75% off at Broadway Panhandler when I first moved to New York.
2. My plates from Clignancourt. I have an entire box of mismatched plates and bols from my year in Paris sitting in my mother’s basement and quite possibly driving her mad.
3. An Urbino poster that might be older than me. This thing has followed me my entire life – from Italy to Berlin to Boston to New York. I feel like it’s part of my visual-psychological history.
4. Additional attachments for the mighty RobotCoupe, which I’ve been neglecting lately. But no more! I feel the urge for scones coming on. Pastry in the food processor, oh yes.
5. Me, caught off guard. (Pissed? Surprised? Probably just hungry. Stand up straight, for Chrissakes.) Oh, and that sweater is a thirty-year old, thin cable-knit, Tse thing that my mother has been wearing my whole life. Well, until I nicked it from her. I’m such a lucky daughter.
6. The glass door to the backyard patio where leaves form a carpet and my roommate recently found (and disposed of, because she is a much braver and better person than I) a dead pigeon. DEAD CARRION ON THE BACK PATIO, people. But it’s also rather nice for drinking beers in the summer months. Besides, for outdoor space in NYC? You take what you can get.
7. A perfectly situated drying rack, which drives Ben nuts because he has managed to single-handedly throw that thing – laden with my lovely Parisian plates, by the way – to the ground on at least five separate occasions and instead of taking responsibility for his klutziness he blames these mishaps on its "precarious" location. Whatever, sweetie. It’s a good thing you’re so cute.
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