So, first of all, we’re feeling very suave around Winslow Place because we now have an honest-to-god island in the kitchen–just like they have in the ‘burbs! Granted, it’s only, like, 2 feet by 2.5 feet, but there it is, in the middle of room:

(I see you looking at the crusty bottom of my yellow enamel pot. What? C’mon, do you really scrub the outsides of your pots? Although, I have to admit I was a little sheepish when I toured Georgia O’Keeffe’s house, and saw that she had the exact same pot, and it was spotless. But she had hired help.)

Second of all, I was reading a friend’s post today about kitchens of the future–or, really, the 1960s vision of kitchens of the future, and laughing my ass off. Oh, truly delightful. I love that computer-punch-card font.

Then, by happy coincidence, I got an excellent book in the mail: America’s Kitchens, by Nancy Carlisle and Melinda Talbot Nasardinov.

I cannot wait to sit down with this for a long stretch, because it looks like a giant issue of Gastronomica, what with all its intriguing historical bits and social consciousness (“It’s only since men have been cooking that you can justify the $275 knife,” is one sidebar quote I just happened to see).

I’m feeling a little dizzy with glee just flipping through, looking at all the pictures of vintage hutches, little piglets snuggling under wood stoves and goofy 1950s ads for “modern” kitchens. And was this book written just for me? There’s even a section on New Mexican foodways…and a discussion of the emergence of the kitchen island!

And, what luck, Ms. Carlisle herself will be appearing this Saturday at the excellent Brooklyn Kitchen–1pm sharp! I highly recommend. You’ll probably see me there, coveting the secondhand cast iron and clutching my excellent new book.