Interior Designers Beverly Hills: Small Kitchens

I hate kitchens that have no counter or storage space. To all Dwellers of The City I tip my hat. Forced by the facts of city life, which read like a Lilliputian Manifesto, they make miracles happen from kitchens no larger than closets.

They rise to the occasion in the most creative ways imaginable. They divide and conquer, divide again, only to have to conquer this time partially in the coat closet and partially in the guest bath’s claw-foot bathtub… but dammit they conquer.

Recently, while hovering near the “terrace” (i.e. fire-escape) in a dear friend’s mid-town masterpiece (i.e. Jr. Studio awash with mirrors) I was dumb struck (and that, Kittens of Copious Consumption, doesn’t happen often) by the contortions going on in the kitchen/guest closet/wrapping room.

Teetering on a killer Manolo heel (yes, one), my hostess was balancing a tray of recently toasted brioche in one hand, while scanning a text message on her mobile, which was commandingly perched on top of her teeny-tiny-but-definitely-not-under-the-counter refrigerator (think eyelash-level), while reaching for the freshly-topped Olive and Anchovy Topinad with the other hand.

Her lone free and fabulously shod foot had just kicked closed the oven door (from whence the brioche came) and was flying toward me at an alarming speed in an attempt to prevent the empty tumbler (launched from the lecherous paws of a party “crasher” as he reached for the fetchingly fit fanny of some Upper West Side ad-executive) from shattering on the stone entry floor (one 12 x 12 tile really doesn’t an entry hall make).

However, after that nifty save, this hostess has a buy from me for just about anything. Remarkably the Tumbler (Grannies Baccarat) and the free flying Manolo both survived without a dint, ding or chip. Praise be!