"KitchenDesign" news and stories

As if molecular gastronomy wasn't sci-fi enough, Dwell magazine now ponders the kitchens of the future, with engrossing photos and interviews. San Francisco chef Daniel Patterson envisions a place where sous vide coexists happily with medieval touches like an open fireplace and a root cellar, whereas designer Scott Hudson foresees "unified systems" instead of unrelated bits and pieces (no hodgepodge appliances and fixtures for him!).

It's a fanciful and fascinating survey of ideas, and while we're wowed by the idea of laser-carved countertops and Pacojets, we're warmed by architect and interior designer Antonio Citterio's insistence that a futuristic kitchen shouldn't be a cold and clinical one: "To cook is to make a mess," he says. "Life is messy!"

We'll tip our tomato sauce-splattered caps to that.

[Dwell via Eater SF]

When I visited Michelle's kitchen for my Real Kitchens series, there was a lot she didn't really love about her gorgeous-in-the-sunlight space. But one thing wowed me (and I'm planning on copying it shamelessly, if you must know): her spice racks.

I have two small spice racks that hold my most-used spices, but the rest are shoved into a shelf in my 1912 home's small "pantry." Every time I need asafoetida, or ground ginger, or tarragon, I have to dig. It's highly inefficient.

Michelle's insight: she bought a bunch of spice racks after a spendy trip to Penzey's, and put them all up on the back of the door leading to her basement (me thinking: hey! I have a basement door in my kitchen, too!). She has a whopping six spice racks, full of all kinds of good things. They're neatly organized, and accessible, yet they aren't taking up precious drawer or shelf space. They even look pretty cool despite the basic, inexpensive nature of the wire racks. Most importantly, it works. And that's the best thing you can say about any kitchen feature.

The other day, on a whim, I took my whole family to the Melting Pot, an outlet of the U.S. fondue chain. I was in the mood for quality fried food, and what's more quality than food you fry yourself, in oil only you've used? ("I think we'll have the Bourguignonne, or however you say it," I told our 20-year-old waiter, scraping up my best guess at its pronunciation. "Wow, that took me nine days of training to learn!" he said.)

As I was frying up tempura zuchhini and beef tenderloin au natur on the little hotplate in the center of our table, I remembered a Koreatown restaurant with mini copper hoods that descended when it was time to start frying. And I thought: I want one of these tables!

So my wishlist for my future kitchen is begun. The dining room will have a traditional table, but my "breakfast nook" will have its very own grill, with a mini hood. I'm sure it will cost thousands - so my future kitchen is FAR in the future. Now all I need to do is figure out where to get the hardware. Am I going to have to go to a restaurant supply distributor or are these in-table grills available commercially? Anyone ever installed one?

I have a love/hate relationship with the depiction of Other People's Kitchens in the mainstream food media. On one hand, it's a special kind of porn for the cooking-obsessed. I drool over bookshelves that hold hundreds of cookbooks; long windows over the sink that seem to always look out on a verdant garden or stunning water view; drawers to hold everything, from spices to an Alton Brown-worthy collection of knives to small appliances to wine; antique finds, food art from "friends," appliances that each cost more than my mortgage. And always, always the hood, the pot rack, the artfully-selected counter stools.

I think I am not alone among food bloggers. I do not yet have my showplace kitchen. When I was house-shopping four years ago, I looked first at the kitchen space and imagined such great things. My husband and I (then newly engaged and, just for kicks, expecting a baby) got in our first huge fight when I fell in love with a farmhouse - with a huge, high-ceilinged farmhouse kitchen - that was impractical in every other way. In the house that we eventually chose, the kitchen worked when we moved in. We painted the cupboards and cleaned the floor, deciding that our very slow remodeling would end in this most important room.