(Behold! The Spice Rack Two Thousand.)
Not long ago, in the group text, a set of fellows began debating wood. Eventually, one issued a bold challenge: "It is also really hard to get a spice rack that doesn't look like hot garbage."
I began with a survey of the current state of the art. Not so much a prototype as a stereotype.
(Your standard spice rack, as envisioned and analyzed by a genius.)
However, my mind wouldn't let this powerful challenge go. Something seemed amiss. Something, to be frank, seemed lacking. So I had a couple extra cups of coffee, until my mind was aglow with whirling, transient nodes of thought, careening through a cosmic vapor of invention. As I am me, a persnickety, critical sort, I began with the problems posed by the spice rack as commonly designed, developed, and deployed. The traditional existence of the spice rack is marked with instability, poor usability, and even safety issues. Propped and leaning against a wall (see the "ladder" analysis above), the very act of accessing something on the top shelf opens the chef, and the object, up to toppling.
A second issue. Spices are often contained in entities of widely varying sizes and shapes. Baggies. Jars. Bigger jars. Mislabeled jars. The mind reels! And then, when confronted with a standard spice rack, executed for (a) jars and (b) jars of just one size / shape, the mind congeals and hardens into rage. Or, if that mind is mine, explodes into grace and sets itself the task of fixing the problem.
Imagine, then, a spice rack that did two things: hold spices in place, regardless of container, when you wanted them thus held; allowed spices to be removed, when you wanted them thus displaced. Imagine...Spice Rack Two Thousand.
(Gape at the power of the Central Tower.)
We begin with the Central Tower. The spice rack, reborn. Flexible, vital, and solid as the rock of Gibraltar. Heavy base, varied shelving options, a total solution to the unstable—one oughtn't to hesitate to call them "rickety"—options of our dark past. And yet this is just The Beginning.
The Central Tower is, however, just the beginning. Remember two things. First, the savvy spicer will of occasion employ mortar and pestle to, if you will, grind their own. This leaves problems, tho: where to put the newly ground spice? Or where to mix spices? How to ensure the violence of mortar/pestle doesn't (literally) impact one's presumably beloved or simply rented kitchen counters? Now remember a second thing: every tower needs a penthouse suite.
(The right materials. The right shape. The Tip Tower: the right thing to put on top of your Central Tower.)
Our tower's penthouse suite is a floppy yet sturdy silicone bowl, inverted. Functioning as a koozie or cozy around one's mortar/pestle, the Tower Tip will cushion its blows and prevent any/all counter surfaces from suffering mars. Inverted, it functions as a humble heatproof bowl, flexible enough for easy pouring, heavy enough to hold its shape (and whatever you may have put in it).
Were that all, it would surely be enough. But it's not all.
Most spice racks, lamentably, aren't extensible. Buy one, you have one, and that is all you have. (Please: don't embarrass yourself by suggesting "buy another one and put it next to the first one". Nobody has time for that shit.) What if: you could extend your spice rack's capacity? What if expanding its capacity actually enhanced its stability, by adding weight and width to its base?
(Details of the side-mounted Tower Tubes. You've never seen anything—ANYthing like this.)
Stable. Yet flexible. A spice rack that will grow with your needs. A tower, with tubes, closed at one end, allowing loads to be added to the base. Need no loads? Simply collapse the tubes!
Let's see the whole thing, the entire package.
(Spice. Rack. Two. Thousand. An idea whose time is coming.)
I foresee one of these in essentially every kitchen—and soon! I foresee one of these in essentially every kitchen—and soon! There's really only one thing left to say (if that):
Stop talking and just tell me where to send my bitcoins!
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