Last night, I said goodbye to a kitchen. As I was cleaning, I realised it would be the very last time. And I just couldn’t bring myself to live the space that had almost become my home.
A weird kind of home. Where stripped aprons seem to be trendy. And smiling faces too.
I then proceeded to cry. Only a little.
I turned the lights off. Gazed – for what might have been minutes – at the neat marble that was more than once swallowed by a pile of notebooks, flour, and too many two-litre containers.
Because, let’s be honest, I spent some solid hours treasure-hunting for those damn plastic boxes. So whenever one was found, it would be fought for and kept.
It was mostly a good fourteen-month. Made special by a few amazing chefs I got the chance to share my coffees and kitchen with. Oh yes, let’s take a minute to celebrate caffeine.