My Astoria, Queens apartment, which I've called home for nearly four years, is not what I'd call my dream house. The floor has a pretty severe slant and some hideous gray carpet. Hot water comes and goes, and I could do without the '70s accents (hello, linoleum!) and crumbling molding. But it's home sweet home nonetheless, and when I get to cooking, it's all good, because I love my kitchen.
It's not pretty, mind you, nor does it come with especially nice appliances or lighting. But by New York standards it's as big as I could hope for, with ample cabinet space and room to turn around without bumping into anything. I've had four cooks in there at once with no complaints and fed a crowd of 50 without pulling my hair out. There's room to support my addictive tea habit and all my big appliances, vintage Hobart included.
Kitchen, you've got flaws, but you're all mine. See why I love it in the slideshow.