Fops & Fauntleroys

The scullery, that humble bastion of domestic life, is where pots clank, pans rattle, and a slight air of dampness always seems to hang in the air. With its battered sink, worn scrub brushes, and a perpetual scent of soap, it serves as a haven for dishwashing, vegetable peeling, and the sorts of activities that the higher-ups prefer to pretend don't exist. Though far from glamorous, it has a certain quiet dignity—like an old warhorse, laboring dutifully on in the background of grander affairs.