Why Some Kitchens Feel Older Than They Are

There is a small osteria in Bologna I have eaten at maybe four times. It is not old. The owner opened it in 2009. But it feels older than the buildings across the street, which actually are.

I have thought about why. It is not the wood, which is modern. It is not the tiles, which are new. It is not the menu, which changes weekly. What it is, I think, is that nothing in the room is decorative.

The wine glasses are the glasses you would actually drink wine from. The chairs are the chairs you would actually sit in. The salt is on the table because the food needs salt sometimes, and the bread is in the basket because the sauce needs something to mop it up. Nothing has been added to suggest atmosphere. The atmosphere is the byproduct of every object being asked to do a job and only that job.

This is what makes a kitchen feel older. It is restraint, mistaken for age. A room that contains only what it uses will read as having always been there. A room that contains decoration — even tasteful decoration — will always read as new, because the decoration is the part that gives away the date.

I think this is also true of cooking. The dishes that feel like they have been made for a hundred years are usually the dishes with the fewest ingredients. Everything in the bowl is doing a job. Nothing is there to suggest anything.