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I Hate My Kitchen Island — And Think It's Useless
Whenever I fantasized about my future kitchen, I generally imagined an awesome island. This particular vision was perhaps specifically fixing to the way that two out of my last three homes didn't have counters. Or on the other hand, maybe, the enduring eating regimen of home change indicates I viewed with my mother while growing up — was there no element more charming in the '80s and '90s than a kitchen with an island? (In the interim, I experienced childhood in the standard beguiling '80s house with a U-molded kitchen.)
A kitchen island spoke to the advantage of room for cooking, heating, and engaging. It held the likelihood that, one day, I'd have enough room to store my particular arrangement of curiosity heating skillet. I envisioned myself getting a charge out of a glass of wine while really utilizing the pasta creator I once purchased in an attack of Nigella Lawson-roused positive thinking. My companions would accumulate around the island, chuckling as though we were in a Nancy Meyers film and I would be Meryl Streep. Or then again, maybe I would by one means or another secure the patina of Hamptons-esque simplicity of Ina Garten, and my better half would be my Jeffrey. Possibly, quite possibly, we would quit living as though we were youngsters who were abruptly allowed their desire to be grown-ups. No more pizza evenings. Vegetables would be eaten (other than child carrots). The island would mystically socialize us into our most ideal adaptations of ourselves.