The kitchen of 14 Robbey Lane had not changed much from its original Levittown arrangement and aesthetic: tiled eggshell-white with linoleum and papered with a black-and-silver print borrowed from a mid-century modern thrust to catch light and split it open. A far cry from the techno-stainless-self-closing-steel-coffee-auto-bread-toasting whathaveyou that constitutes the modern cooking experience. No, this room was hardly the place Generation X wants to pressure cook its kale chips or salamander its quinoa.
