Decluttering the Imperfect Pantry

No doubt you visit Culinary Types to meet some fascinating epicureans, sample some witty prose, or feast on a banquet of food history.

A visit to my kitchen is a far more frightening scenario. Something along the lines of Jacques Pepin meets Jackson Pollack.

There comes a time in every chef’s life journey when he must admit that the kitchen system just isn’t working anymore and needs a complete overhaul. The pantry is in fact, imperfect. The canola oil smells funny, that pancake mix from 2001 is probably dicey, and the special-edition commemorative Heinz Green Ketchup is now far greener than when I first bought it.

It doesn’t help that dear Lydia from the Perfect Pantry is currently highlighting “Other People’s Pantries” each weekend. The immaculate photos from my fellow food bloggers make me feel like a pariah. I have to admit it. My kitchen cabinets are chaotic and I’m a slob. I need help.

Enter Rosemary Flannery, expert declutterer and owner of the service “No More Domestic Drama.” She promises to devise a strategy for downsizing and managing the mess behind the curtain – “Find what you need, when you need it!” She’s one part Felix Unger, one part Sigmund Freud.

I am clearly uncomfortable when I meet Rosemary at the train station. It’s not easy to reveal your dirty little kitchen secrets. Will she think less of me for co-mingling Pfaltzgraf dishes with plates from IKEA and Flintstone Jelly Glasses?

Fortunately, she is non-judgmental and we get to work immediately in systematic fashion to set things right. Every parcel of food is removed from the cabinets, the expiration date is checked, and items are grouped into similar categories – Pasta, legumes, grains, sugars, flours, spices.

I feel a cold sweat coming on as I am forced to choose between mini-muffin pans and an over-supply of spring form pans. Rosemary is brutally efficient, but supportive. “Will you ever use it again?” she asks pointedly. “How are you feeling?” she’ll also enquire periodically.

We start a “Toss” pile, a “Donate” pile, and a “Maybe” pile. Dropping the rusted tart pan on the “Toss” pile is a no-brainer, but I’m really torn over the salad spinner. It goes to the “Maybe” pile, although after Rosemary leaves, I regress and put it back in one of the cabinets. Ah well. Therapy is a process, not an immediate transformation.

As the afternoon wears on into evening, the donate pile gets larger, and the cabinets start to look roomier as well. All baking items are consolidated and grouped together into one large cabinet (although later I discover some additional cake pans hidden away in the guest room). I can actually see every item.

Mini-casseroles and baking dishes are stored together over the stove. Rosemary is creating a strategy of storing items where you use them. Already I can see that my trips back and forth across the kitchen will be reduced.

We sort through many stacks of dishes, and the treasured mustard-colored stoneware from Bennington, Vermont and my Liberty Blue Ironstone with scenes from the American Revolution is brought up from the basement and given a home in one of the large cabinets. Rosemary maintains that you should use your nice things and enjoy them, instead of packing them away.

We make a trip to a home furnishings store and purchase additional shelving and quilted China storage sets for larger seasonal collections of dishes. These will be stored, but easily accessible for more elaborate celebrations.

It is hours past dinnertime and I am drained. Rosemary surveys the room briskly and declares, “I think we managed to get about a third of the kitchen in order.”

“Couldn’t we round that up to half, just so I feel a little better?” I beg her.

There is still work to be done, but I am on the road to recovery. I make a conscious choice not to purchase the snazzy Rachel Ray mixing bowls in Bed, Bath and Beyond because they will clutter my cabinets, and my multi-vitamins are in easy reach when I pour my orange juice in the morning. I’m looking forward to my next cooking project.

I am still thinking of fishing that mini-muffin pan out of the donate box, but I have time to work on my willpower. In the meantime, the pantry, while hardly perfect, feels far less dramatic, exceedingly more functional and a bit more serene, at that.

©2008 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved