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You know those kitchens that look like no one actually cooks in them? Pristine countertops, everything tucked away in a drawer, not a toaster or a rogue spoon in sight. I can appreciate the aesthetic—I really can—but my kitchen has never been that kind of kitchen. Mine’s more cozy meets crumbs, ha!
It’s the kind of space where something’s always cooling, simmering, baking, or about to be. There may be half a chewed up apple on the counter and there are most certainly crumbs on the floor (thanks to my GB’s, which is what I call my grand-babies for short). It’s a lived-in kitchen, in the best way. And honestly? I wouldn’t change it for anything.
Here’s what actually lives on my counters—an antique roll-up bread box that creaks when I open it. A donut hole jar (yes, you read that right), which sometimes holds cookies, but mostly donut holes because…priorities. A crock of wooden utensils—every one of them old, used, mismatched, and slightly scorched from years of chili stirring and sauce tasting. A knife block I swore I didn’t need until I was tired of rummaging through the drawer (and there were tiny hands getting into my drawers again). A small, glowy lamp in the corner that makes the kitchen feel warm even when the dishwasher’s humming and the sink’s full. And one tray of carefully corralled “stuff”—you know, the decor that makes it all feel intentional.
It’s not magazine-perfect, but I adore it. In fact, it’s my favorite room in the house.
I’ve always been a kitchen person. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a house where the kitchen was the center of everything. You did your homework at the kitchen table, you talked on the telephone (which was mounted to the wall) while laying on the floor with your feet up on the dishwasher, and someone was always making something—meatloaf (not my fave), boxed brownies, a Jell-O salad that never really set up. And back then, no one ever said, “Ugh, this kitchen is so cluttered.”
My kitchen is full of things I’ve thoughtfully put together. Things I love.
My bread box came from Facebook Marketplace, and I almost didn’t get it because the woman assured me it was “pending sale” (turns out there are tons of flaky folks on FB, so I swooped in and got it after all). It’s scratched and imperfect, but it keeps my seed bread fresh for almost too long.
My donut hole jar is reminiscent of something you’d see in a 1960s diner, and it makes me smile every single time I see it (especially when it’s full). It’s also an excellent bribe for GB’s who love donut holes. Just saying.
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My utensil crock belonged to my grandma. Or maybe it didn’t—I honestly don’t remember where it came from—but it feels like it should have or could have, and I’ve had it a long time, so maybe? Haha! Every wooden spoon in there tells a little story. That wide one with the burn mark? That’s from the time I left it on resting on the cast iron pan while making spaghetti sauce and got distracted by the buzzing dryer. (The clothes were folded and put away without a wrinkle. Totally worth it.)
The lamp on the edge of the counter is a newer addition. It’s just a tiny little thing with a soft white bulb, but it changes the whole mood of the room. When I turn it on in the early mornings, it feels less like “the kitchen” and more like a room I want to stay in. Sometimes that’s enough to make me pour an extra cup of coffee and linger a little longer (like I don’t spend all day in the kitchen anyway 😁).
And the decor tray? That’s my little corner of calm. A faux eucalyptus plant I don’t have to remember to water, my favorite rooster salt and pepper shakers, the prettiest blue and white floral pitcher, and whatever seasonal thing I feel like tucking in (currently a jar of coffee grounds. Because coffee lives in my soul, and I don’t have any good patriotic kitchen decor).
Is it cluttered? Eh maybe. But to me, it’s intentional, and cozy.
There’s just something I love about a kitchen that looks like people actually live there. It feels warm. Real. It says this is where people gather, and eat, and talk, and live. It doesn’t have to be spotless. It doesn’t have to be aspirational. It just has to feel like home.
And honestly? I’ll take a countertop full of character (and crumbs) over a completely spotless kitchen any day. Now it’s your turn—do you keep your kitchen counters bare or do you let them tell your story?
