This was my kitchen for six years, where I’ve developed nearly every recipe (and even where we shot my cookbook). You’re right—you haven’t seen it in Architectural Digest. It took some years to convince the landlord to install an oven that would fit a half sheet pan and wasn’t 200 degrees off. The fridge door didn’t open all the way because of a wall. The counter space was what it was. There was definitely not a dishwasher. But we all have our quirks. I’m grateful it put up with near constant use and forced me to be a more efficient, resourceful cook. You’d think the kitchen could only fit one human but it came alive when friends came over and we’d all cook together. The fridge was raided, every tool put to use—though usually not for its intended purpose. Everyone would bring a droopy vegetable and a bit of leftover something knowing one of us would make it work. We never had enough chairs for everyone to fit at the table, but I preferred sharing chairs and squishing close.