My wife and I both grew up on farms in Ireland and now live in London with our two young sons. Our little boys just love the outdoors and the animals not to mention the buzzing atmosphere and delicious food at Frizzante Cafe which has become a bit of a weekend ritual for us now.

On one such weekend I noticed a decidedly awkward and almost comically long piece of wood propping up the IKEA NORDEN sideboard that the waiters use to collect all the used cutlery and crockery. I just love spontaneous fixes like this, it’s haste and resourcefulness exudes a beautiful energy.

There is something strangely compelling in this juxtaposition, it’s a universal narrative, I mean, who hasn’t folded up some card or a beer mat to stop a table from wobbling? It makes this place all the more accessible, familiar, welcoming. It reminds me of why I’m drawn here, it’s not just the animals and the food, there’s an inherent energy in the place, an energy that’s hard to describe but is easy to feel.

Don’t interfere.

In spite of my admiration for the fix, I find myself thinking about fixing it “properly” but am a bit concerned that doing so would take away some of the charm of the place. This impromptu fix would disappear and the sideboard would stand perfectly without any reference to it’s wobbly past or the precarious energy captured in the wood wedged under it today. Would a proper fix actually detract from the place?

The following week we returned to see the animals and to enjoy some more yummy food. This time there was a new piece of wood propping the sideboard. In fact, there were two of their reserved table signs stacked to compensate for the irregular floor. Clearly, this was a bit of an issue for the staff here so this time I thought I would at least plan a fix.

The solution seemed pretty obvious to me, I would just use a standard adjustable foot that you can see on furniture the world over. They are very easy to install, simply drill a hole in the leg, knock in a T-nut and screw on the adjustable foot.

Even though this would stabilise the sideboard and the staff would never have to cobble together bits of wood again it just didn’t seem right to intervene so I let the thought rest and enjoyed my squash tortellini.

My next visit however changed my perspective, this time a hastily folded chunk of cardboard kicked into place revealed the problem to be a persistent irritation that was clearly refusing to go away.

Not broken enough.

The lovely people at this busy restaurant are repeatedly fixing this problem and I wondered why they themselves hadn’t bought an adjustable foot to fix it once and for all?! But of course, it’s exactly problems like this that never seem to command enough attention to be fixed properly.

Of course, we all live with several of these, things that are just not broken enough to warrant fixing or replacing. We bow to their demands and adjust our behaviors to suit their needs.

So here I am, presented with someone else’s not broken enough problem. It’s a classic case of I hate you, let’s live together 😉 This thing that once charmed me with it’s casual aesthetic now screams it’s antagonising defiance at me. Well buster, I’m now charged to step in, to fix you definitively and banish you from these peoples lives without a trace.

I’m going to need a cape 😉

Taking out my phone I buy the parts on eBay there and then, an M10 T-Nut and a corresponding foot for just £3.94 delivered to my door. I love the internet.

Once the parts arrived, I packed them into my bag with a hammer and a drill and headed off for a quick fix before going to work. I introduce myself to Eddie, the head chef that has run Frizzante for 16 years and just as importantly the creator of the assemblages I’ve been admiring. He was pleasantly surprised that I wanted to fix the problem but also a little embarrassed that I had noticed them at all!!!

The fix was quick. I emptied the sideboard, turned it over, drilled a hole in the bottom of the leg, hammered in the T-Nut and then screwed in the adjustable leveling foot. With a little help, I popped the sideboard back up and with a final adjustment, it was all nice and sturdy. My final act of heroism was to drop the folded card into the recycling bin, banished for good.

Am I am fetishist?

Walking away from the cafe I found myself buzzing, feeling a little elated for fixing the problem and warmed by the obvious surprise and delight it brought to the staff at the cafe. But in spite of doing what I believed to be the right thing, I had a nagging feeling that what I had done was somehow not appropriate.

Even though this was a classic example of not broken enough with all it’s insidious demands and frustrations, the energy of the fixes it had elicited forged a material dynamic, an aesthetic charge, a disarming charm into the fabric of the place, and I took that away.

oh dear, am I a fetishist? Was I seduced by the aesthetic? I wonder if the intelligible narrative presented by the assemblage tricked me into feeling observant and clever? Did my discovery, understanding and appreciation release endorphins rewarding me for my mindfulness, my awareness? Is it partonising of me to be charmed by them! Aaargghhh, maybe I’m a design snob! A knowing savant musing on the frustrations of others. Heheee, that’s certainly one way to look at it but it is a valid perspective and as I’m writing, a difficult one to reconcile.

Here it is, the fixed sideboard with it’s invisible adjustable foot putting a decisive end to a colourful history of temporary props. Whether you see this as a disrespectful act or the timely end to an annoying problem is entirely subjective but I find myself unable to chose one over the other. At the end of this minor odyssey I find myself surprised and fascinated with how this can be both a great fix and an inappropriate intervention.

 

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James