Cookiecrumb's Toxic Kitchen

A few years ago I gave Christmas presents of homemade rice vinegar (I didn't make the rice vinegar, for heaven's sake!) infused with sage leaves and cranberries. I was just learning to tinker with my primitive computer graphics application, and made up labels for the little bottles (I used Tabasco bottles). On the spur of the moment, I added the line "From the toxic kitchens of..."), and even though I've moved to a new kitchen with new appliances, the nomenclature probably still applies.
Hey. But at least I have a dishwasher now, and sometimes I actually use it. And there's a lovely antique washstand with a marble top that makes a perfect surface for rolling piecrusts.
Still. There's a meme going around where food bloggers show pictures of their kitchens for all to see. And I have pictures. Most of them not too incriminating. (I'm loading all these photos in a small size, but if you're keenly curious, you can click to see the hideous details.)
This is the top half of the fridge, with our pretty, old, enamelware containers on top. The fridge is inconvenient to use; shoulda bought a side-by-side instead of freezer-top. But it's got that space-age coating on the stainless steel, so fingerprints wipe off easily.
To the right of the fridge is the stainless steel toaster Cranky gave me for my birthday. Yup, buttery fingerprints, not mine, though we could let a DNA lab make the final judgment. (Also, notice the burlap sacks of dried beans we bought at the Tracy Dried Bean Festival. One of them is topped with a bag of Bob's Red Mill Polenta, which we cook in a little slow cooker for breakfast ― add cheese and jalapeños ― mm.)
OK, make a 90∘ turn to the right, and there you have the Starship Enterprise, our dual-fuel convection oven and gas range. I love that thing. To the left of it is the Marin honey we stir into our tea, and ― d'oh! ― there's my lens cap on the counter. Also, a canister of black Oxo tools. They're nice. On the other side of the stove is: a pitcher of wooden spoons. You can never have too many wooden spoons. Damn, are those spatters on the pitcher? Things you never really notice until you take a picture. (There are some more wooden spoons in the dish drainer, but I'm going to spare you a picture of my dish drainer.)
Now, turn right again, and you can see the view over the top of the sink, across the dining room, and through the glass doors into the patio. Darn, curtains are shut. Anyway, above the sink are old Mexican clay bowls of tomatoes, a pear (it's now bathing in a vodka infusion) and some clutter. Ooh, there's a gnarly scrubbie next to the faucet. And look! Another wooden spoon, poking its head out of the drainer, on the left. Also, I am not responsible for that Freudian kitchen faucet. What were the previous owners thinking of when they remodeled? Yarghh.
Anyway, that's about it.
Well, there is a really pretty tiled floor with a cute doggie on it. (Wait. More spatters? [Hangs head in shame.])