Maddie Gordon - The Tiny Mess: Recipes and Stories from Small Kitchens

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book has been a true labor of love and has only been made possible thanks to the help of so many people. Its impossible to list everyone, but weve tried our hardest.

Firstly, we would like to thank everyone who backed and shared The Tiny Mess project on Kickstarter. You helped bring this book to life and we simply could not have done this without you.

Wed like to give a huge shout-out to every single person who invited us into their homes and cooked for us during this project. We are so inspired by you and overwhelmed by your kindness and generosity. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Ethan Stewart, thank you for making our rambles and intentions sound good on paper.

Thanks, Scott Gordon (Trevors dad), you are the best. Thank you for putting in so many hours editing photos and for getting this book ready to print. Your help has been huge.

Dick Owsiany, you have been invaluable. You made self-publishing far less daunting thanks to your knowledge, expertise, and attention to detail.

Glen and Gabe at Color Services of Santa Barbara, many thanks for scanning, organizing, and taking care of the mountains of film weve thrown your way. We highly recommend them for your photo and film needs!

Tom Adler, for your experience and advice from the get-go.

Shipping books is no easy feat, so wed like to send a huge thank you across the pond to Keith, Elena, and Lewis Joyce, Ros and Graham Gordon, Janet Fernee, Annie Harmstone-Weller, Naomi Hemsley, and Amy Thomas for all of your physical and technical help. You are the Great British Dream Team.

Sarah Wade and Ole Kils, Leo Basica and Taiana Giefer, Erin Feinblatt and Brina Carey, Roxanne Rosensteel and Raymond Douglas, Madi Manson, Susi Gonzalez, Spencer Gordon, and Joanne Gordon, thank you for letting us trash your kitchens! Youve all been immensely helpful and supportive, whether its lending us your spaces, equipment, a helping hand, props, or advice, or simply assisting us in eating all the freaking food weve made. You are all dear to us.

Fermie Gonzalez, Marys father and owner of the magic mountaintop that she calls home. Thank you for all of your love, support, and encouragement.

Thank you to everyone who let us crash in their driveways during this project. You kept us out of Walmart parking lots and creepy RV parks.

Hill Top and Canyon, Roots and Earthrine Farms, we are so very grateful for all of your organic produce contributions during the recipe-testing process.

Bon Aptite, Edible Santa Barbara, Santa Barbara Magazine, Loam magazine, Casa Brutus magazine, Coastal News, and Stay Wild magazine, for your kind words and support in editorials.

Thanks, Benji Wagner from Poler Stuff, for the continued support.

Finally, wed like to thank those who have inspired us. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, your food philosophy, your gastrowagon, and the deep, important connection that you have with food has encouraged us no end. Thank you for celebrating real people and real food and being consistent with your message. Gill Meller and Roger Phillips, for creating wonderful books and delicious foods that harness the wild and native ingredients at our fingertips. There needs to be more people like you. Kristy Wright, thanks for inspiring us to capture real people in real kitchens.

MADDIE GORDON is an illustrator originally from rural Sussex, England. Her home kitchen is in the belly of a thirty-six-foot sailboat that she lives aboard with her husband, Trevor, in the waters off Santa Barbara, California. @maddiegordonart

MARY GONZALEZ is a vegan baker and farmer. She lives with her dog, Rose, in a thirty-foot travel trailer on a secluded mountaintop avocado ranch above Carpinteria, California. @sweetmountaintop

TREVOR GORDON is a photographer and professional surfer who grew up on the beach in Santa Barbara, California. He loves sailing, fishing, and getting knee-deep in boat projects. @tearevor

THE EVOLUTION OF A TINY KITCHEN

Writing The Tiny Mess got us all thinking about the evolution of our own little kitchens. We havent always lived in teeny, tiny, unconventional homes, so adapting to a life of less space has most certainly been an evolution for the three of us. We have come a long way from our big, old, cluttered spaces full of useless junk to our small, cluttered spaces full of wonderfully useful junk.

Perhaps you and your living space have had a similar journey into the abyss of extreme downsizing. Perhaps it went something like this:

You started with about eight plates, a dozen mugs, pots and pans in every size, and a plethora of tools and gadgets. You thought you would really need that apple corer, egg slicer, and avocado keeper. Thered be room for them, you said. You had already gotten rid of so much stuff, you said. But then you spent that first month in your new homenavigating your way around your new microsized kitchen, organizing Tupperware like Tetris blocks, and realizing all over again, every single day, that you still have toomuchshit.

So for your next move, you gutted the kitchen and tossed everything that doesnt fold, stack, stow, or nest. You knocked out some built-ins or ripped out a wall and added some extra countertop. You reanalyzed your inventory and decided to keep only two of everything you eat on or with. Nothing more. You decided youll be making cowboy coffee from now on. No need for that electric coffeemaker, pointless! Cowboy coffee it is.

Finally, you have space. Real room to breathe. Unfortunately, your kitchen now looks like the inside of a camping store. You want to have friends over, but theyd have to eat with sporks, so you get a couple more plate settings, ditch the enamel mugs that burn your lips, and buy a pour-over coffeemaker because good coffee is something you are unwilling to sacrifice. You acquire a cast-iron skillet because it does nearly everything you could ever ask a pan to do, and like a well-seasoned pair of old Levis, it doesnt really need washing. That sleek multitool utility knife contraption goes back into your camping kit and instead you find yourself one decent, sharp knife that cuts anything. You part with the color-coded cutting boards and replace them with a lone burly wood board, one that will get funkier and funkier with each meal and fits perfectly over your sink.

Substance over style. Function as a part of form. Simpler. Slower. You are getting the hang of it now.

Perhaps the hardest thing of all during this process is learning how to accept various gifts from well-meaning parents, family, and friends. You knowthose completely incompetent small versions of normal tools or some gimmicky ceramic measuring cups that dont even say the damn measurements on them. The people in your life are so excited for you and want to support you, so in the end, you wind up with a special place somewhere in your tiny home for all these mostly pointless gifts because you love the folks who gifted them to you. Sound familiar?

Well, thats because we have been there, too. The three of us have all gone mad with the work of trying to live smaller so that we can lead bigger, more enriching lives. Weve plotted and planned, reworked, reconfigured, and redone things a thousand times in our pursuit of a better kitchen, easier cooking, and tastier food. It hasnt been easy, but it has made us wildly more efficient, creative cooks who continue to grow with every obstacle.

Our pantries are filled with food, not appliances. Our cupboards are full of spices and sketchy condiments that most everyone else refrigerates. Our fridges might technically be coolers, but they are packed exclusively with perishables because thats all we have room for. Our counters are stained with stories of meals gone by and roads long since traveled.