twenty-two inches (that's what she said)

"I like to cook." 

These four simple words never fail to elicit a look of sheer bewilderment from your typical New York City real estate agent. During my last apartment search, more than one realtor clucked his tongue when I even mentioned wanting a dishwasher; others frowned in dismay as I immediately vetoed anything with a mini-fridge. Over the years I've seen lots of apartments where the "kitchen" consisted of little more than a single cabinet hanging above a sink, and I once looked at a beautiful place on Columbus Avenue that didn't have a kitchen at all. Talk about a dealbreaker.

You see, I grew up in suburbia. In suburbia, kitchens have ample counter space, lots of sunlight, and perhaps even room for a table and chairs. But these days I'm a city girl, and while I wouldn't trade it for the world, I do sometimes find myself suffering from...kitchen envy.

In Manhattan, people just don't seem to care about cooking. Living in a place where you can get pretty much anything delivered at any hour of the day--sushi at eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night, Indian food at two in the morning--effectively eliminates the need to cook. I can count on one hand the number of Manhattanites I know who ever bother to attempt anything more complex than opening a can of soup. That, I'm fairly certain, is why kitchens in New York apartments tend to look like this:

For me, two cabinets and a couple of burners will never a kitchen make. I need to cook. Cooking is my stress relief, my entertainment, my passion. I enjoy hosting dinner parties and wooing co-workers with baked goods. So when I saw the kitchen in my current place, I knew immediately that I was home. My apartment is tiny--it could easily qualify as a large walk-in closet--but by New York standards, the kitchen is actually quite well equipped. I have full-size appliances, new floors and counters, a breakfast bar, a window, and a sink that is actually big enough to wash dishes in, although I don't really need it since I HAVE A DISHWASHER. Who knew all of that could fit into 32 square feet?

I love my teeny tiny kitchen, but it comes with some very specific challenges. For starters, I have a whopping 21.5 inches of usable counter space:

The lack of counter space often means that cooking is often something of a balancing act, especially if I'm using more than, say, two ingredients at a time. I'm forever shuffling bowls between the stove, the sink, and even the end tables in my living room. (I have four cabinets and zero drawers in my kitchen, which means that I'm forced to use the top of the refrigerator for storage, or I'm sure I'd be balancing things there as well.) Beyond that, there isn't room for a toaster oven or microwave, so those appliances live on the other side of my apartment. I've spilled melted chocolate or tomato sauce on my parquet floors more times than I can count.

But you know what? I'm lucky. My space might be tiny, but what it lacks in cabinets and counter space, it definitely makes up for in heart. 

And besides, I'm just glad that I don't have a bathtub in my kitchen: