A shared kitchen but not the table

I admire those who can work in an open kitchen. Whilst they are trained professionals it's always a view that provides insight into the ballet of getting all different kinds of food on the plate at the same time and according to everyone's requests. My kitchen is an open kitchen.  Open, meaning I've got no way of keeping anyone out.  My open kitchen doesn't quite have the same obligations that a commercial kitchen would have and the only temperature checking that goes on is done by the fridge which starts beeping at me when I've left the door open.  There is little consideration given to food costs and portion control only means the server of dessert gets the bigger serve.  People and animals seem free to come and go during my kitchen service.  They lick the floor when I'm making pastry or rub up against my legs when I'm up to my elbows in butter, herbs and a former chicken.  The plastic container on the side of the sink is the takeout order for the chickens who want extra carbs and next door's horse has already spoken for the leftover carrots from the farmers market.  The outdoor cat eats the dog food, the dog eats the indoor cat food, the indoor cat just pretends to eat and the sheep just want to eat and eat.  Fortunately we don't all eat at the same time.  Or at the same table.