Friday, 7 November 2014

A Shelf

Our kitchen was inherited from the frenchman and the more I think about it the more I'm convinced he didn't cook but had a maid in to cook for him or ate out. There was an enormous couscousier but no oven or microwave and not many pans. There wasn't much storage and the first thing we did was buy some freestanding base cupboards and a vegetable rack. As I've got the oven and retired I've added quite a lot of baking equipment and tagines and such like and keep stores of flour, rice, pasta etc in jars. These were gradually taking over all the surfaces in both the kitchen and the dining room, so it was decided we would have a shelf. Moha looked at the accumulations and said we should have two.
 But I would not be able to reach the second and we would have a similar situation to that in Wales. There Beloved and the taller of the Kiwi boys put up the kitchen cupboards. They held them at what they thought was the right height. I said "lower". They moved them down a fraction. I said "lower" again. Repeat several iterations. Eventually they were giggling away at how anybody could possibly want a cupboard so stupidly low and I gave in. Beloved has had 25years to regret that giggle as whenever I need anything from the top shelf I shout "Beloved" and he has to come and reach for me. The corollary of that for me is that I live in the sort of magical world that babies learning Peekaboo occupy, where things miraculously appear, or for me, disappear. If Beloved tidies to the top shelf the object is out of my line of sight and does not exist for me.
Anyway a shelf in Morocco is not bought off the peg from your local B&Q or IKEA. It is made  to measure and to fit even though the kitchen is not square and it needs to be a long trapezoid with acute and obtuse angles at opposite ends. Similarly the brackets are handmade specially to purpose.

I'm pleased with how it has turned out. It certainly stows a lot of gear. 

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