One room, street level

The bench

The bench is a steel table at the back of the shop, dark with oil. It is not a dining table. We do not serve food here.

New skillets lie face-down on it after a turn in the oven. The oven sits behind the table. When it is on, the room smells like hot grapeseed oil, not like lunch. If you came hungry, eat somewhere else and come back for a pan.

A new skillet gets a thin coat, then heat, until the steel goes mottled brown. That is a start. Eggs may stick the first week. You finish the surface by cooking. We will not promise a black mirror on day one. A black mirror on day one is usually a thick coat that peels.

Spoons get the neck sanded until it does not catch a thumb, then a wipe of food-grade mineral oil. If a handle is rough, it does not leave. Scrapers wait in a row. Stainless ones are left blunt. Carbon ones are oiled, and we will put an edge on them if you ask. The stone is on the bench. You can watch. It takes longer if you stay and talk, which is fine.

Five warped half sheets lean on the back wall. They are not for sale. People bring us twisted pans and ask for a repair. We point at the wall. Cold water on hot steel did that. We cannot undo it.

The floor is concrete. In January the concrete is cold and the oven is the only warmth, which is why a person waiting on a scraper stays longer than the errand needs. There is one stool. It is for waiting, not for a meal.

I work this bench most open days. A towel lives on the corner because the pan handles are bare steel and they stay hot. I still miss, sometimes. The mark on my left wrist is from a 10 inch that looked quiet.

The door faces Flat Street. The name is on the glass. If you want a piece held until we lock up, call (802) 555-0148 while we are open. The form on this site does not send mail. Hours are on the hours page.