There’s a chocolate dessert in France called a mi-cuit, which literally means “half-cooked.”
When you cut into the small round cake, it oozes with dark, rich chocolate. Mi-cuit is also the nickname I’ve given our new kitchen. That doesn’t mean it’s oozing with warm dessert- far from it. In fact, for the last couple weeks the kitchen has been slowly on its way to becoming functional. This morning, it just passed the halfway mark.
Who said moving was easy? Our last two apartments in Paris were furnished. Translation: the electricity and kitchen appliances had already become friends before we’d moved in. When we stepped into our new apartment, it was a sleeping slate- waiting for us to wake it up. Wednesday morning, we arrived nice and early (side note: we’re still sleeping and cooking in our old apartment) to wait for the delivery of the much-awaited stove and washing machine (second side note: there is still no telephone and neither of us- yes we’re proud of it- have cell phones). We were pleasantly surprised to see that the hot water was finally working and that the interphone had been fixed (with both our names, spelled correctly!). To make a long morning short, the stove arrived (with Sébastien gallantly waiting out on the sidewalk because the delivery men didn’t have the building code and, like I said, we had no telephone). It, however, clashed with the electricity; there was a melodious pop (and a spark) and we had to wait until this morning for another electrician to come. The washing machine never came. We did get a lot of cleaning done though. I scraped paint spots off the old marble fireplace in what I’ve claimed as “mon bureau et yoga room”- shh… Sébastien doesn’t know about this claim yet… He scrubbed the very dirty windows. We both re-measured for the cupboard shelves and changed a few doorknobs- until we discovered the screws were too short for most of the doors.
Wednesday morning we thought we might be able to have our first official meal in our new place that very evening. Hours later we realized it would have to wait.
I trekked back over to the apartment this morning and after some more waiting and some more scrubbing, the electrician arrived- semi-armed to tackle the problem. He worked, left, came back, worked some more, didn’t seem to understand why the delivery men hadn’t been able to plug in the stove on Wednesday, left again, verified something and then left for good- the stove, believe it or not, was (and still is) in working order!
So, moving isn’t easy and the kitchen still has a ways to go: countertop, shelves (yeah, that’s a whole other story) and deciphering how the stove works. I figure that getting it hooked up was the biggest problem though, so this puts us into the final stage of creating a kitchen from scratch. At least I’ve been learning a lot of vocabulary in this venture. Like, interrupteur (light switch), couteau à platre (puddy knife) and papier de verre (sandpaper). They could be useful terms, couldn’t they?