Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Journal of The Kitchen Apocalypse

This is a fluid post; it will be updated every time something else happens.
Now (November 9), there is a pause in the madness.

1. Journal of The Kitchen Apocalypse
   1. A tale of three Tonys (no, not the awards)
   2. Update 1
   3. Update 2
   4. Update 3
   5. Update 3 1/2
   6. Update 4
   7. Update 4 1/2
   8. Update 5

A tale of three Tonys (no, not the awards)

Four years ago, the announcement came dryly: “The big drawer on the left is broken.” I responded, like the very chatty people of Transylvania, “Mno.” And this is how it stayed. By which I mean, still broken.

Six months  passed, and again I heard:  “The big drawer is even more broken.” 
“Mno,” I repeated, although I don’t like to repeat myself. And I don’t like being nagged. Twice a year is enough.

But then one day, without permission, the drawer broke off all on its own and a multitude of precious kitchen accessories cascaded in a clattering shower over the pots and pans. I stared blankly at the disaster and articulated, somewhat bewildered and with one eyebrow raised: “No, ni, mă, tu, la el!” (the equivalent local expression of, “Well, look at that!”)

I pulled the drawer out from wherever it fell down and fixed it up the best I knew how, which meant I nailed it shut so securely that it hardly opened anymore, the typical fix from a guy who thinks he knows what he’s doing around the house.

Irina stared at me blankly, Cosmin laughed uncontrollably. He asked Mom not to rush me anymore because it stresses me out and, just like that, a few more months and years passed. At that point, My Beloved announced: “I have to repaint the cabinet doors.”
“Mno,” I mumbled, feeling only a small disturbance in the Force: danger.

Many YouTube videos were studied, many notes were taken, and a lot of time passed until, one fine day, I heard the fateful sentence:
“We need to change the kitchen.”
“No, ni, mă, tu, la ea!” (Well, look at her!)

It was the spring/summer of 2025 and I timidly tried to bring up the greater need for a new air conditioning unit – or at least some more efficient windows – instead of a kitchen.

Irina suddenly proved that she hadn’t stayed next to me for 35 years for nothing and replied, “No, ni, mă, tu, la el!” (Well, look at him! – referring to me and my newly found courage to utter an opinion.)

Thus it was that one day I woke up to find a guy named Tony at the door. A good guy, full of ideas, who wanted a thousand dollars just to do the project.
A. Thousand. Dollars!
As nice as Irina is, she hustled him off like you wouldn’t believe.

A few days later, another Tony shows up. This one drove a car the size of a tank, and he himself was built like a bear. He spoke very fast and with his mouth closed. I didn’t understand a single word. Irina caught a bit more, and they started discussing things: amounts of money, a plan, details, and I went from “Mno” to “Hmm,” three letters being the most I could articulate, though I hadn’t yet fully comprehended the imminent danger.

If I thought Irina was done after the two Tonys, I was living in a fairy tale. Apparently, those thirty-five years of marriage have taught me nothing.

It seemed that companies for kitchen remodeling had taken over the entire Valley Of The Sun, and there were cabinets, textures, colors, models, and handles everywhere. And this is to say nothing of sinks and countertops that require the incorporation of granite, quartz, wood, and that highly compressed cardboard pretending to be modern.

One day, she dragged me to some people and introduced me to a guy named… Tony.

I, the innocent, ask if the first requirement to work in this business is to be named Tony. Naturally, the guy doesn’t get the joke and quickly passes us on to another one – Evan. Young, tall, with a little mustache and an insomniac wife who keeps him up all night fornicating and procreating. I never met the wife, but Evan had plenty of experience and always agreed with Irina – and yet somehow still “talked her into it,” ending up exactly where he wanted. That’s a science too!

And so the fun began. Irina must have gone there about twenty times. I no longer knew if she was looking at cabinets, making plans, or admiring Evan’s mustache. Probably all three. Plus, we were promised we’d be without a kitchen for at most a week. (The other Tonys had said a month.)

At one point, we received the first estimate — a dream kitchen, of course, with everything we wanted: $35,000. I said, “Mno, ni, no, măă, uuu,” a prolonged and heartfelt version of my usual astonishment. Suspiciously, Irina agreed with me, and we started cutting out the much-desired options. We stopped around $20,000, mainly because there was nothing left to remove but the walls.

We paid the down payment, approved the project, and the master specialist came to measure to the millimeter. He did measure to the millimeter, but he totally mixed up the inches.

We approved the project again, shook hands, paid the rest of the down payment, and waited. And then came the email: blah-blah demolition, blah-blah delivery, blah-blah installation, blah-blah three weeks, countertop, blah-blah four weeks, sink installation. Estimated final completion: around Thanksgiving / end of November.

!!!!

From at most a week, we’re into at least two months, and our money was gone too.

We are supposed to eat at that kitchen table. But more important than eating is the nail we use to secure the patio door. The lock broke, and the engineer in me drilled a hole and put in a nail. We can misplace anything in that mess, except for the nail.

And, lo and behold, exactly when they promised, on October 28th, the demolition crew showed up to tear down the existing kitchen. To keep in step with our President – the west-south-west wing of the house was demolished.

Irina: “We have work to do: to repair the wall, to plug the gap at the bottom of the wall (with foam), and to remove the laminate flooring.”

They moved quickly; it was done in 2 hours.

Stefan: “The demolition team consisted of two guys, and after half an hour of speaking English, we realized they were Romanian. We were happy, and they taught me what to do to get a faucet for free, as the original one had an unlimited warranty and was broken due to a manufacturer’s defect. Five minutes and two photos to Customer Service later, the new one arrived in four days via FedEx.”

The stripped kitchen had some long and interesting holes; the original builders measured incorrectly and had to break the wall to install the countertop. And here is the continuation of the dialogue:

Irina: “What, can’t you see it? You come home or go to Home Depot to get “mud” to fill the horizontal hole and foam to plug the gap at the base.”

Stefan: “Look how knowledgeable you are… ❤️ Fine, I’ll go.”

Irina: “Progress: The wall was repaired by Ștefan. I always have to drag him to do things. [Stefan’s note: this should be my motto] It was painted by me. The cabinets have arrived. They will be installed tomorrow and Friday. Stefan bought a tool for his birthday to cut the installed laminate [Stefan’s Note: it was returned, and instead of the tool I got myself some orange sneakers]. We are waiting for the craftsmen to tell us how much to cut. They don’t do floors [Stefan’s Note: they do, if they want to]. They are capable of putting the last corner cabinet 3/4 on the laminate and 1/4 on the cement and say they will adjust it with shims under the cabinets to make it level. I said NO! Cut the laminate, which is garbage anyway and needs to be changed sometime, by someone, by us, or by the next owners, and all the cabinets must sit on the cement because that’s how the house was built. There was no laminate under the cabinets. Only under the stove and the refrigerator. I hope you understood… 😘”

I applied foam to the base of the wall while Irina was out. When she returned and saw the “operation,” she became so intensely and loudly distressed that the neighbors came over to ask if everything was all right and if she were in any pain. I left to buy another can of foam so she could show me “how it’s done correctly.” The next day, what she had done looked exactly like what I had done. She had missed the little detail about the foam expanding. Fortunately, it cuts easily with an ordinary knife, so she got to work and finished it artistically.

October 29: The cabinets are delivered, everything is 100% paid for. Like with prostitutes, we had to pay before they start the job (or so I heard). The house is full of extra furniture and boxes: little boxes, big boxes, plastic boxes. We don’t know where anything is anymore, with the exception of the nail for the back door. We can lose anything except the nail. That nail, as I said before, although I don’t like to repeat myself, is our anti-theft device.

October 30: The Master Craftsman appears with a dancing stride, unloads his tools for about an hour, discusses the issue of the laminate under the cabinet with Irina, Evan joins the discussion, and the laminate issue suddenly becomes more important than the entire kitchen. Prudently, I disappear. Around 10, the apprentice appears, they get to work, and the fun begins.

Surprise No. 4. The master measurer had made another mistake: one of the cabinets is too wide and overlaps the window, thus, everything will be installed except for that one cabinet, which will arrive… sometime. The famous three or four weeks. Or maybe six, to be on the safe side. This came after long discussions between the Master Craftsman and Evan, mustache and all. At one point, the Master left and left me with the apprentice, who also left around five.

Suddenly, the entire kitchen project ceased to interest me. Completely.

October 31: The kitchen is starting to look somewhat presentable, but it still can’t be used. The doors are hung rather haphazardly on the cabinets (everyone agrees they’re badly done, including the apprentice) but, apparently, everything will be “arranged” eventually, and they’ll even put on the handles. That “eventually” is like a Fata Morgana, especially since the crew was only allocated two days for us. I think the Master Craftsman got scared of Irina: he didn’t show his face the next day, leaving that poor young man to fend for himself…

Toward the end (of the day), the apprentice put the stove back in place and, as if he had just won the lottery, announced “It FITS!”

Irina, of course, was not satisfied. Surprisingly, neither was I, though for different reasons. Being so close to the oven, I have no idea how sawdust (err, the cabinets walls) behaves when heated. I can’t even put a silicone sheet in there, nothing… Irina’s reason… excuse me, I forgot.

On Monday, November 3rd, Irina called Evan. They had a long, calm discussion, full of positive results (as far as possible) – someone would come, sometime, on Tuesday to fix everything. They reached a consensus that the measurements had been done carelessly, and the time allocation was once again decided by someone who never leaves the office.

Also on Monday, November 3rd, another specialist came to measure the countertop. We’re a bit scared of these guys and their measurements. He said he would arrive between 10 and 2. He showed up around 4:30. He stayed for half an hour, during which his phone rang constantly. He had to measure something we already knew wasn’t right. Somehow, there needs to be a 3/8-inch space on each side of the stove , a little under a centimeter. If the granite countertop comes out correctly, I’ll be very surprised. If it doesn’t… no problem, they’ll just break the wall again.

The countertop is estimated to arrive in three weeks, putting us around the 24th. The following day, the installers will come to put back the sink, the faucet, the garbage disposal, the dishwasher, and the range hood. That will be Thanksgiving week.

Sometime after that, the narrow cabinet will also appear, replacing the one that overlapped the window (see Surprise 4). No one knows when but, theoretically, the kitchen will be functional by then.

And just when we think everything is finished… three weeks after the narrow cabinet arrives, some other specialists will come to install the backsplash for us: small, beautiful tiles, in the proud Romanian tradition of “when you don’t know what else to do, just slap on a red stripe for accent.”

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Update 1

November 10, Monday: Irina has now been solemnly promised that the next day, first thing in the morning, the apprentice will come and finish everything that still needs to be done.
“Look at them,” I said skeptically, eyes on the list.

November 11, Veterans Day (which has nothing to do with the kitchen although, after all the internal battles, I think we can apply for benefits)… The apprentice shows up around 12:30, works slowly, takes his time, and disappears around 6. He’ll return when the 1836 cabinet arrives (see Surprise #2), meaning… sometime.

Then he’ll finish everything. But let’s not anticipate.

“Progress,” says Irina, sending a video to the family.

“Progress,” I say, with a little picture.

The apprentice finished point 5 and, I think, 6 [on the list].
Irina is constantly unhappy and criticizes nonstop. She could be a case study.

My turn to make an observation: the doors above the hood need a closer look. Something seems off. I’ll return to this.

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Update 2

November 12 – the day when the famous piece of laminate under the little left cabinet, the one Irina wanted removed, would come under attack. (See Surprise #3 way above)

Who re-bought the multitool from Home Depot? This guy.
Who removed the cabinet from the wall? This guy.
Who applied the foam again (of course badly)? This guy.
Who applied the foam again (properly!)? She did.
Who hopes, like an idiot, that the laminate obsession will be bequeathed to something else? I do, although that piece of laminate and I are already friends and It was part of our daily conversations:
“Good morning, good morning. Did you email Digi?” Yes. “Did you remove the laminate?” Yes. “Good evening, good evening.”
Now what will we even talk about?

Just as I’m grieving my laminate friend, I catch Irina roaming the kitchen with a magnifying glass like Sherlock Holmes on caffeine. She’s inspecting everything.

Example: the back panel of the middle cabinet has the wood grain going sideways instead of up and down. Or up and down instead of sideways.
Either way, shameful.
Unacceptable.
End of civilization as I know it.

And my head is spinning.

Even more important: the doors on that cabinet are 3 to 4 mm lower than the cabinet box. Normally harmless, but since the hood goes under it…. Either the hood can’t be installed or you won’t be able to open the doors to the cabinet. Or both.

Perfect.

After watching YouTube tutorials and measuring as though I’m preparing for a rocket launch, I’ve calculated that the doors can be raised a bit from the hinges. I hope that “little bit” will be enough, but I’ll let the “pro” do it. If I touch them, I’ll more than certainly drop a door on my foot and ruin it. The door, I mean. The foot is whatever.

Until then, we return to the cabinet that once sat on laminate but now resides on nothing but cement.

We detach it from the wall again (drawers included) even though YouTube kept yelling, “Remove the drawers first!” But since I have been officially declared “intellectually insufficient,” I was banned from touching them, even though the drawer-removal system is designed so that most any marginal idiot could manage it: click the green handles and presto, drawer pops out. Not for me though. Forbidden.

Three hours, a bottle of bubbly, and yet another Home Depot run later, the cabinet is back in place like nothing ever happened.

Irina patrols the kitchen with a level, tape measure, and caliper, measuring things no human has ever measured, like the thickness of dust inside the outlets.

Replacing all the outlet covers is now our devine decree, written in the stars. No need to discuss.

I can hardly begin to describe what happened next. Some people accuse me of exaggerating, but honestly, reality beats it. Every time.

The cabinet reinstalled by the apprentice was 10 millimeters away from the wall, which doesn’t sound like much, but when the granite countertop was measured, the cabinet was flush with the wall. Just what we needed, less countertop. What do we do, fill the gap with caulk?

In short, the cabinet must be moved back to where it was. The Realtor in Irina has an exquisite and finely honed habit of taking pictures of everything, so when the staff insisted that this is how it was initially, she showed them the photos (So THERE!).

It sounds simple, but unfortunately – back in the land of (thud) reality – it’s quite complicated because the cabinet in question is attached to another.

The number of mistakes is incredible. It’s like watching Amateur Hour: Home Edition.

At this point, Irina’s “We should do the flooring ourselves” is a theory that is sounding not so crazy anymore.

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Update 3

November 14. It was supposed to be a calm day, but then I heard (for the second time): “The vent screen is very dirty. It needs to be cleaned.” She had already found a new one on Amazon (link, price, color). It was already in the cart.

This is EXACTLY how the cabinet saga began. I could already envision two or three Marks (you know, cousins of the three Tonys) coming with exterior house renovation plans, vent included.

I study the problem and announce, with trembling voice: “You can’t remove just the screen, you have to remove the whole vent.”

“So? I’ll help,” she says. Five minutes later, she evacuates the premises for Pilates – the typical Popescu maneuver: when there’s work to be done, vanish. As for me, I remained standing there like an idiot, wondering how on earth I had ended up in this situation.

An hour and a half later, I finally pulled the damn thing out of the wall, discovering, in the process, that it was held in place with crooked screws and sported 5-inch wings.

What I’ll buy will fit between the two wooden studs. The rest of the hole will have to be filled somehow, most likely with foam.

Then the wall needs to be repaired. But then, out of nowhere, Irina asks me, sternly, why I rushed, who told me to, especially since it will rain in two days. Simple: I’m terrified of a potential Marks (Tony’s cousins) invasion.

God knows, It was like a bet as to which would get here first, the rain or the part but, thankfully, the new vent arrived in two days. In the meantime, I had sealed the hole as best as I could, like the engineer that I am.

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Update 3 1/2

November 16 and 17. The new hole cover (the vent) arrived, and it fits perfectly.

So (at least temporarily) the vent has been installed just enough so that it won’t rain into the house and so it can be tested later, when and if the kitchen will ever be ready and in use again.

Before I knew it was temporary, I used adhesive silicone. I pray it’s not too adhesive. I do not want to peel off the whole exterior wall.

Fun fact: I’ve learned it’s much easier to destroy an outside wall than an inside one. Lean a little – boom. Hole. Great news.

And now we wait. Outside you can hear crickets and ducks. Inside, silence …. From the company? Even more silence.

They will reach out. Sometime.

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Update 4

December 1 (Romania’s National Day. This has nothing to do with the kitchen, of course, but let’s mark the occasion anyway). I haven’t written anything lately because I’ve been so busy with the already (in)famous home improvement projects, but let me tell you about the last two weeks, because the work is somehow going forward and things are happening.

They sent The Apprentice to push the cabinet back against the wall and, while he was here, to install the great Rev-a-Shelf Cloud system, that unicorn of kitchen organization seen only in brochures (I hope I can show you a picture of it – if ever it’s actually installed). I don’t know what he was tinkering with on the cabinet doors above the hood (the obtrusive ones that worried me because the hood couldn’t be installed), but he dropped a drawer on the floor, a drawer that, between you and me, shouldn’t have been removed in the first place. Now the front is damaged just enough for us to see and get annoyed looking at it, so now they’ll have to buy another front and adjust the drawer.

As for the great Rev-a-Shelf Cloud system, TA opened the box, took out the brochure, studied it for 10 minutes, talked on the phone for another 15 minutes, said he needed some wood, and left. We haven’t seen or heard from him since.

No sooner had The Apprentice walked out the door than the guys with the granite countertop showed up. Perfect timing! They did their job, detailed what they had to detail, and installed the sink and big beautiful countertop. Of course, Irina is unhappy, she would have done it differently, which she informed the guys. They, in turn, looked at her as though she were some sort of alien. Irina’s conclusion: “These guys don’t think.” The boys’ conclusion: (a) don’t breathe too heavily in her presence and (b) leave as quickly as possible. I think the word is out about her.

The next day, the team of installers arrives, the same team of demolition workers, only this time with a reconstruction mission. Guys. These Romanians worked as if they were filming a YouTube tutorial! They arrived on time (actually, a little early), installed the hood (adjusting the cabinet doors a tad so they wouldn’t rub against the top of it), checked the vent flap – see the drama above – (it now works perfectly, so Irina is more relaxed, even if it’s only a little more), installed the dishwasher, the garbage disposal, the faucet, the pipes, everything.

They finished in two hours. They left behind peace, order, and a subtle hint of patriotism. Thank you and good bye!

That was a day or two before Thanksgiving, November 27. A dark day for us. On Friday, the next day, we had a memorial service for Cosmin. We were busy, but amid the tears and coliva, another kitchen drama was unfolding, a seeming appendage of life that relentlessly provides material [to write about].

But when we put the tiles next to the countertop, it was a monumental disaster. They didn’t match at all (the “expert’s” opinion? I couldn’t care less), both had a dramatic accent, and one of them needed to be more subdued, if not repressed altogether. And so began a drama that continues to this day: “What tile should we use for the backsplash?!”

For a week, Irina sent hundreds of photos and messages, asking for opinions from friends, relatives, colleagues, and random strangers she met by chance in stores. The poor people ended up not responding to her texts anymore, hiding virtually. In stores, salespeople scattered like spooked quail when she hoved over the horizon: “Oh no, it’s the lady with the samples again!” After countless visits, too many miles traveled, and an unofficial degree in Interior Design, Tiles Division, the options were narrowed to two: something that was actually available in a store, at Lowe’s, or asking the company we were working with to replace all the tiles with a different set.

Would the company want to exchange the tiles? Of course not.

They lied to Irina to her face, saying that the desired new color and pattern was not available, but a simple five-second cross-examination via telephone (launched, of course, by Irina) proved otherwise. And, because we had a free weekend, we timidly began putting things back in the cabinets. But only after putting on a special layer of protective film. Because we are not barbarians. I, the husband (remember me?), did it.

I worked for two whole days cutting shelf liners, measuring, adjusting to the millimeter, while Irina became an expert at removing and replacing shelves, higher or lower. Yes, undoubtably an expert but, with each exertional adjustment, she grumbled just as loudly: “I don’t understand why this has to be so complicated!” The shelf: “Me neither!”

Update 4 ¹/₂

Irina got up one morning with renewed energy, took a deep breath, and, after ten minutes of discussion and two hundred and nine dollars later, the new tiles were ordered from the company and will be installed next week. But – little optimist that I am – I’m sure they will be installed shortly before Christmas (not next week) because they must migrate from California. By foot, I think. One tile at a time.

December 7: During a raid to return tiles and pieces of ceramic at the same Lowe’s, we stumbled upon some super cool shelves, from … Rev-A-Shelf (See below).

The brochure insists that they take only 20 minutes to install. After an hour and a half, we were done, five minutes shy of a messy divorce. When we finished, we looked at each other, said “Good job,” and then went out with the dogs to calm everybody down, dogs included.

Irina is already contemplating the next projects: installing the cloud Rev-A-Shelf ourselves, and new flooring in the kitchen.

Me? I’m praying for a new job, on location. Their location.

Update 5

December 15 – The new set of tiles arrived, and we don’t like these either, but it is what it is. We got excited and prepped for the 17th, when the crew was supposed to come and install them.

December 17 – 7:00 AM arrived, but the crew did not. I could make up rhymes for every passing hour, but at 9:00, Evan’s “mustache” rang and, oh, wow, what a surprise: we’d been banished to the 22nd. Like, Merry Christmas? Good thing they let us know so far in advance.

Since the kitchen was empty, Irina said: “Let’s paint the pantry!”
“OK,” I heard myself say.

And then came the funniest part. Irina, being so used to my saying “No” to everything, kept explaining why it was such a dandy idea to declutter and paint. After a pregnant interlude of me just staring in amazement, it suddenly dawned on her that I had agreed with her from the very beginning. She started laughing, then suddenly declared that the grout was no good and we needed a different color. Such a sudden change of direction made my head spin. Only mine, though: Irina’s thoughts were, as usual, in perfect order.

That done, The Official Deportation began. We didn’t find anything moving in the pantry – inside or outside – of the bags but we did find   some vaguely expired relics. The winner was a can of coconut milk from 2021. I have no idea how it got there, and I know we’ll never   use it, yet we still hesitated before throwing it away. Then there were 15 pounds of organic wheat flour and 20 pounds of organic brown rice left behind by friends who moved back to Romania four years ago. Weirdly, they aren’t expired. Yet!

I have no idea what to do with that much rice, but the flour means bread. Christmas is coming, and I hope to show up with a few loaves, but that’s assuming we actually have a functioning kitchen by then. I also realized I will never have to buy salt again, even if it has an expiration date. Yes, the same salt that has comfortably languished in the earth for millions of years will suddenly, according to some obscure department in the good ol’ US of A, “expire” next year.  

December 18 – Every home project is officially launched into orbit by a preliminary voyage to Home Depot, where we buy more paint and brushes (who cares if we already have some at home?)

Now Irina is up on the ladder, in a variety of contortionist positions, painting like crazy while thinking out loud: “What if we did one red shelf and one white shelf?” 

That was my cue to disappear.

December 19 – I lost the nail!