Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

I find inspiration in the old adage "big things come in small packages". I have always taken it to mean that one didn't have to be big and ahem, tall in order to make a difference. From my hardly-over-five-foot vantage point, I have taken the proverbial statement to heart.

But then again, there's that good ol' "size doesn't matter" phraseology out there and that's the one I have a little protest with.

Because it does indeed matter.

When it comes to the size of your kitchen.

I have mentioned it once or twice that a typical Dutch home follows a typical Dutch pattern. Houses tend toward the narrow and tall; just like the physique of the Dutch themselves. Our home is three stories of row house height, including two sets of narrow twisting stairs between floors. We call them the stairs of danger, but that is fodder for another post, another day. I shall make a note of it and share the story behind the moniker soon. But the house? The house has 5 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms (meaning two rooms where one can take a bath or shower), 2 toilets, a living room, a dining room and the world's tiniest kitchen. t.i.n.i.e.s.t.

Possibly that last is an exaggeration since I have been in homes here where the kitchen is so tiny it is nearly non-existent. Like an afterthought perhaps. The builders stepped back and surmised all that their hands had rendered and then hit their foreheads with a resounding thud admitting "Doh! We forgot to put in a kitchen!" And then they converted a closet.

One of our first family outings after our arrival in The Netherlands was to the city of Dordrecht, where shortly after disembarking from the train we were adopted right off the street by the sweetest Dutch Oma in the world. She asked us if we wouldn't like to walk along with her and she would show us some lovely gardens near her home. I guess we had starry eyed tourist written all over our awe smacked faces as we wandered along the street. We accepted her invitation and she chatted away in Dutch to us as we walked along the streets and alleys. It goes without saying that the prattle was nonsensical to me as she happily pointed out shops and details about her city.

As we approached her house, it became very clear that she was residing in what once was a cloister for a convent there in Dordrecht. The snatches of Dutch my husband was understanding and translating confirmed this theory for me. We wandered through the gardens which were indeed lovely and arrived at the front door of her domicile. She eagerly invited us inside for some refreshment.

Placing her skeleton key in the lock, she swung the door inward and we all filed in. Into the tiniest house in the world. t.i.n.i.e.s.t.

Her living room was possibly a 10x10 foot space, crammed with furniture--a reclining chair, an end table, a round dining table with 4 chairs, an armoire full of books, a sidebar for storage, 2 or 3 lamps, a tapestry foot stool, a wooden chest under the single window--and knick knacks stacked on every possible surface. She chatted away to us about the photos prominently displayed around the room and insisted that we make ourselves comfortable while she served us some snacks. I turned to watch her work in her kitchen area. It couldn't be referred to as a room proper. It was literally an alcove in the side of the living room which had been updated to include plumbing for a sink, electricity to run the hot plate, a single small counter along with one small shelf above the sink for storing dishes and a tiny refrigerator in the corner. From that minuscule space she produced coke and cookies which she placed on the round table, and then bananas, and some grapes. Then little cakes. It was great, so great to be there and to be taken in and taken over by her hospitality. I only wish we could go back now and find her again, so that I could actually converse with her, rather than only being able to offer my paltry Dank u wel over and over again.

So, in truth that has to be the tiniest kitchen in the world. But the size of mine has to run a close second.

Galley style, recently remodeled (but not enlarged?) it is a sleek and lovely design with it's white cabinets, large storage drawers and 4--count 'em 4 cupboards. I have a gas top stove, a half-size dishwasher and a combination microwave/convection/electric oven which has the capacity to hold, exactly one 9x13 inch casserole dish. Or a small cookie sheet. What it cannot hold is a full size muffin tin, a deep dish roasting pan, or a turkey for Thanksgiving. Believe me, I didn't even try.

This will be telling. When I tried to take photos of this itty-bittiness to post alongside these words, I couldn't even get an angle in the room to take a picture of my tiny appliances and my tiny work space. That's how small my kitchen is.

But I don't mind so much really.

In this as with most everything in our lives, we have just learned to adapt and make do. Preparing for dinner parties is always an interesting sight, wherein I use every available space including the top of the refrigerator (which is also small) to hold plates and trays full of food not quite ready to serve, but which need housing somewhere until it's time for the table. The shelves of the fridge will be bursting with containers which I have expertly arranged and balanced so nothing gets squished. Or at least not squashed beyond recognition. I have even been known to ask one of the children to "just stand there and hold that for a minute" as I make space on my counter top for one more mixing bowl or cutting board moment.

I do regret that the space is just not conducive to lengthy chef lessons for my kids. I have very fond memories of cooking side by side with my Dad in the kitchen as he prepared meals for our family. I learned to cook under his tutelage and I am sad that there just isn't the space to have the kids in the kitchen with me. At least not all of them at the same time.

The one true upside I see to having such a tiny space is that I don't do a whole lot of baking here. That's not a bad thing, as the cookie eating monster that I am can do without a daily dose of snickerdoodles.

Trust me, these hips don't lie.