The kitchen in the corner

I am one of nearly eight million sardines that reside in Greater London

I live in a rented studio flat where my bedroom is my kitchen. I can roll our of bed and into my shower in less than three complete moves. Having upped sticks from a much larger chunk of available cooking area in Australia (a country known for its vast expanses) it may come as no surprise that I’ve spent the past 18 months of my life here sussing out the best way to use the virtually non-existent space that, under duress, I refer to as ‘the kitchen’.

Firstly, there was an epic compromise on the lack of storage. Having just three cupboards above the sink and no drawers at all, the early days weren’t too bad, given I didn’t own so much as a teaspoon. But as I clanked home, weighed down with plates, pans, cutlery and mugs after an extensive shopping trip, it dawned on me that no, my kitchen cupboards aren’t an incarnation of the TARDIS and that I didn’t, in fact, have anywhere to put my food. I metaphorically boxed away my love of found food retro bakeware and serving platters emulating the glossy spreads of my cookbook collection, and began applying the Tetris skills I’d perfected during childhood to piling up the cupboards.


This feature originally appeared in Fire and Knives No.10 (2013)
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