The Drain In The Floor

There is no reclaimed wood surface. No pendant lighting chosen for warmth of atmosphere. No copper bowls.

There is a drain in the floor.

This is where the soap is made. Surfaces stained with olive oil and fruit pulp. Tools that are used not displayed. Racks of soap curing under whatever light comes through the window. An apron stained in ways we do not discuss.

The internet is full of beautiful soap studios. White walls. Pottery holding essential oils. Spaces that suggest the soap was made by someone who has resolved all practical concerns and now makes beautiful things in beautiful surroundings.

Our workshop looks like a place where work happens.

The drain is there because when you combine oils and lye solutions and fruit purees and almond milk and cucumber extract and cut soap and clean equipment you need a drain in the floor. Practical. Also more honest than a copper bowl.

We are aware that writing about the drain is itself a kind of aestheticisation of the unglamorous. We are writing about it anyway because it is true.

Vasilis wears a ski tuning apron. It is stained. We do not discuss it.

What comes out of the room is olive oil soap made from our own grove, and the oil in it is Koroneiki for unremarkable reasons. Neither entry is more glamorous than this one.

The soap that comes from this room has a laboratory certificate, a ΜΑΡΚ number, and was tested by people with chemistry degrees. The room itself looks like what it is.