The Spice Rack (or How I Learned to Stop Using Recipes and Just Put Old Bay on Everything)

It would seem, dear reader, that no collection of cooking tales would be complete without a description of the culinary wonderland that the chefs inhabit. Thus, I will dedicate the next few lines to a snapshot of the place we call home.

For those unfamiliar with our kitchen, it can be best described as a homeless man's Iron Chef arena (real Iron Chef, none of that America crap). It's layout is similarly ridiculous, it's contents equally erratic and it's cooks just as experimental. Located just to the upper right of our champion of a stove/oven unit (freezing to burned chicken in just 30 seconds) is the staple of all kitchens: a spice rack. Okay, it's a cabinet not a rack, but no one asked you Giada.

When I first moved into 79 I remember trying to organize the spice rack, which was then just a pile on the counter. After finding 4 separate containers of Oregano, 2 unopened, my exasperation led me to move on and just ignore the hodgepodge of flavors that our past tenants left us. During the great kitchen upheaval of 2012 we finally converted the spice pile into a cabinet and rid the counter of the gunk (think 4 year old fudge sauce) that lived on that side of the counter. Shout out to Jadler's panini press for working wonders with the newly opened real estate. Anyways, this spice rack relocation finally forced us to complete the task I had started one year early, and decide what to keep and what to toss. After a long debate of the worth of duel cumin shakers, we decided that there was no need for multiples of anything (or even singles of most things, but that's beside the point).

I want to make sure at this time that I don't completely misrepresent the subject. Many a stir fry has been livened by some crushed red pepper and that thing of Bouillon cubes must have regenerative powers because it has never once run out. I guess the message I am trying to convey is that, like many of the features of this squalid manor that we dwell in, our spice rack/cabinet/pile is subtly effective. It is frustrating at first, but in time you come to realize that you need it as much as it needs you. It is comforting in its chaos, a reminder that functionality is not always defined by quantity (do less Carter) and that, while we may feel out of control in this rapidly moving metropolis , it's still our damn choice if we want to put basil or Italian seasoning (which are definitely the same thing based on a study I conducted) on our sautéed onions.

Hey, spice rack, never change. Cause if you did, we'd have to move some of glasses into that cabinet and then we wouldn't have anything to accidentally knock off the counter and shatter.