Bloody Well Write

Looking through today’s Houzz email about must-haves for a dream kitchen, I came upon a reference to a dumbwaiter. This reminded me, naturally, of a fantastic 1957 two-man Harold Pinter play I saw in college called “The Dumb Waiter.”

Truly one of my favorite plays — and playwrights — it follows two hit men on a job. They’re in a basement, waiting for their instructions on who their next target will be. In the sparse basement are two doors, two beds and a dumbwaiter — a small freight elevator that typically transports foodstuffs and other items from the basement up to, presumably, some sort of kitchen. For Ben and Gus, the two hit men, though, the dumbwaiter brings odd notes:

“Two braised steak and chips. Two sago puddings. Two teas without sugar.”

“Soup of the day. Liver and onions. Jam tart.”

Say what?

The men exchange conversation, heated at times, before one of them finds out who the next target is. The rest, my friends, is for you to find out when you read the play for yourselves.

A dumbwaiter, ready for action (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sicarr/4046690753/)

But I digress.

The Houzz dream-house article mentioned a dumbwaiter. Early versions work via a pulley system, with a rope. Obvious problems with this simple contraption exist, such as the operator losing grip of the rope (on purpose or on accident) and thus dropping the box. Modern dumbwaiters often employ electric motors or automatic control systems.

What I find most interesting is that its origin is attributed (though not verified) to Thomas Jefferson. Apparently, he used one of the first dumbwaiters in his Monticello, Va., home to keep the number of servants around the dining area to a minimum. Too many people standing around would have hampered the view of the mountains.

Yeah, that’s what I think, too: Get those pesky servants away from the windows. Oh, wait — I’m that pesky servant. And there’s only one of me. Yeah, never mind.

Again, I urge you to read “The Dumb Waiter.” It’ll get you thinking.

SAK

Those who know me, and those who don’t but follow my new-house blog, know that I’m wading into the mystic waters of building a home. And my, what hazy waters this project is turning out to be!

No, I jest. I’m thrilled that my husband and I have the opportunity to create something pretty much exactly as we see fit. True, we’re not going to finish the basement immediately — we haven’t found that elusive money tree yet — but we’re getting the main living areas as close to ideal as we can and will complete the basement a little at a time.

In our efforts to make sure that we don’t overlook anything, we — OK, I — have been researching the fool out of every aspect of building a home. And one thing that I’ve come across that I’ve had to investigate further is the en suite.

I caught part of an HGTV real estate show highlighting a newly married couple searching for an acceptable residence in Dubai. They insisted on having two en suite bathrooms. The realtor and the announcer used the term en suite several times, and it sounded so posh to me that I had to verify exactly what it is. After all, my last French class was 25ish years ago.

Decidedly not an en suite (photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/sis/119849288/)

En suite. It sounds very French to me. Indeed, it is French. Its first use was in the early 1800s, and its modern-day meaning is “a bathroom or shower room that is attached to and only accessible from a bedroom.” In other words, it’s in the master suite, not in the hall.

Other bathroom terms include the shower room — a room with a toilet, sink and shower but no tub (in the United States, this is referred to as a 3/4 bathroom) — and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom — typically, a bathroom with a tub, toilet and sink(s) sandwiched between two bedrooms.

We’re building an en suite bathroom for us and a Jack-and-Jill bathroom for our two girls. So wouldn’t that technically be a Jill-and-Jill? Aha.

Happy trails!

SAK