My mom’s kitchen has so many things. Period.
There are pans, gadgets and cake stands every where you turn. Or – behind every cupboard. She’s equipped for every possible party invitation, as a host of any theme, she’s ready to take on any baking assignment and will bat her eyes with modest appreciation when you compliment her on the arrangement.
Which is why it’s hard for me to out-right steal from the lady. Because if she didn’t love it so much, I would totally clepto my way to her equipment.
Those loaf pans? How many are there? At least 6. I have one. As in “Let’s learn to count, we always begin with ONE.” One.
Muffin tins, griddles, baking sheet after glorious baking sheet.
Wooden spoons, I counted 3 wire whisks … spatulas that don’t crack and break. Rolling pins, oh my!
It’s not that I don’t have these things. I do. I have one of each of these things. What I don’t have is ample space to store extra’s, a dishwasher or a griddle. I don’t have one. I weep.
I equate this kitchen status to something like retirement. One day I’ll be part of this club. With cake stands and cupboards and a kitchen-aid. Until then … I’ll just take photos of my mom’s baking supplies, her organized cupboards and racks and racks of pie dishes, pyrex and bowls.
And I pet them when no one’s looking.