I’ve been using the fridge – excellent ice-maker, by the way.
I’ve used the garbage disposal. Nice to be able to grind up those clementine peels. But I’m amazed by the size. Do I really need something that looks like it would do the trick in a reasonably-sized restaurant?
I’ve used the dishwasher, even though, when I emptied it, I forgot to pull out that top drawer that holds the clean silver. (My old dishwasher just had the standup holders for my silverware.
I’ve warmed up water in the microwave, not because I wanted water warmed up in the microwave. But I did want to make some use of the microwave, just to make it mine.
But I’ve been avoiding the new induction stovetop and range.
Chalk it up to my brain being too fried to start in on something new at this very minute, and I figured the induction cooker was going to take a bit of adjusting. As Thoreau once said, “beware all appliances that require new cookware.”
I did do a bit of grocery shopping and, in fact, bought “stuff” to make Sunday dinner for my sister and her husband. But when the moment came, I just couldn’t do it. If I had a gas range, or an electric, I’d have known just what to do. But this is so new-fangled.
It’s not fear factor, mind you, that’s kept me eating peanut butter and tuna every evening since I moved back in. It is the sheer exhaustion that comes with moving back in. Honestly, I’d thrown so much stuff out, I thought getting everything back into place would be a snap, Instead, it’s become my life’s work.
Some things have been put back in place neatly, but I’m now the proud owner of several Fibber McGee closets, and a good half-dozen Fibber McGee drawers.
If I’ve thrown so much stuff out, why is there no room for anything? I’ve added lots of counter space and cabinet room, yet somehow they’re already full.
So what with all that stuff, and some last minute scurrying around – who knew the wall registers were going to be so difficult to lay my hands on. At least I found a source for the standard non-standard ones. Unfortunately, in the living rom, I’d like to go fancy-schmanzy with a couple of decorative registers. I’ve got an ‘ask’ in to one site to see if they can make me a couple of registers that will nicely pick up on the grapevine theme of my carved fireplace and plaster medallion ceilings. Can’t wait to get back that quote. All I know is that the living room heat registers are anything but standard.
And, of course, it’s going to take at least a month to get them made.
Should have started this months ago. No, wait, I did. It’s just so hard to find ones that fit, even though the ones from Reggio Register almost did. Ah, the pleasures of living in a place built back in the day when, apparently, no one gave a hoot about things like whether the holes in the walls were a standard size.
Anyway, to get back to the new range, I did begin to use it last evening. (Sick of PBJ, for sure.)
I’m wondering what Ike’s Table for Living would have suggested I do, based on the ingredients I’d assembled.
If I put the package of pasta, a carton of eggs, parsley, a slab of parmesan, and a slab of pancetta, would that smart table have suggested Spaghtetti Carbonara or something else?
The Table for living, which was created by Ikea Design Manager Marcus Engman:
,,,can detect the foods and ingredients on its surface and suggest recipes and preparation techniques. (Source: Bloomberg)
Here’s how it works: an overhead camera films your ingredients, and then “sends the images to your home PC for analysis by specially designed software.” Analysis complete, and after sifting through it’s virtual cookbooks, the recipe is sent to a projector that projects it onto the surface of the table.
Still under construction,
…The table could eventually incorporate induction coils to heat food or charge a phone,.
.You mean I could start cooking on my induction stovetop? Clearly there’s nothing to fear form technology.
I can just imagine what the smart table would have to say about some of the haphazard meals I’ve concocted over the years. What would it suggest for a meal centered on a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints. A jar of peanut butter with a broken piece of rye crisp hanging out of. An orange. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s. (Calm down, it’s only Fro-yo.)
I guess the Table for Living will give people a new response to the question what’s for dinner: Don’t ask me, ask the table.
Well, there’s no room for a table – even a dumb one – in my kitchen, so I just had to figure it out for myself.
The spaghetti carbonara tasted just fine.