The Madkitchen of Chaillot, or, Somewhere Bob Vila is Laughing

Most people who know Tara and I know several things about us:

   a) We're tall
   b) We're usually together
   c) We're lifelong apartment dwellers who are trying to remodel our kitchen ourselves
   d) As a result, we currently have neither a functioning stove nor plumbed sink in the kitchen.

We're making do pretty well with our toaster oven, electric kettle, and gas grill. No microwave, though; we're a little superstitious about the wiring in the kitchen and want to upgrade it before we buy the one we want. But to do the wiring, we wanted to have the dishwasher in place. For that, we'd need the plumbing set up. And we couldn't have the plumber in until the cabinets (which we bought special-order and finished ourselves) and countertop (epoxy resin, which is a whole other post) were installed. And I couldn't even really start THAT until I had laid the new floor, which meant removing the old enamel sink/countertop monstrosity, the plumbing for that, and then leveling the existing floor.

But before we wanted to do the floor, we wanted to finish the demo: taking down a fun greenboard and plaster wall to expose the brick chimney, and ripping out the old drop ceiling (first) then the even-more-fun lath-and-plaster ceiling (next) to expose the upstairs plumbing for when we need to do the bathroom.

The 10-day break I took after running a 12 penny nail through my foot during THAT particular Adventure In Homeowning was just a bonus.

Anyway, we just got the countertop in last week, so now we can plumb the sink and dishwasher, have our pals at McLain Electric run a couple more circuits and install some outlets and wall switches, and we can start talking about the tile and other wallish matters. And the stove, well, that's a whole other post too. But with cool pictures.

But having to replace the whole heating system last month has taken our full attention off the kitchen, and with two vehicles on a first-name basis with the guys at AAA, it's turned into another kitchen sinkless week. I would wield the wrenches myself, but Tara, bless her heart, knows exactly what would happen if I did. Well, not exactly: she can't decide if I'd flood the house or poison the drinking water for a four-block radius. The professionals shall have at this, in due course; at least if they sicken the neighborhood we'll have someone to blame.