Rooting through your cabinets is a total free-for-all: Nothing has a label on it. Rolled oats are in unmarked mason jars. Bags of lentils are piled on top of one another like Jabba the Hut's chin. Who knows where or how any of these foodstuffs were secured.
A sticky bottle of apple cider vinegar is cemented to the shelf. A jar of olives has DUST on it. A bottle of imitation vanilla looks like a victim of a violent mugging and your garlic powder has congealed into a hardened rock.
Is this your kitchen or a Dharma Initiative bunker because everything looks like it's been here since before Britney shaved her head. For all you know, these were the remnants of the last tenant. They probably just came with the apartment.
I wouldn't use anything in here to bake anything. I wouldn't even cook a dirty bomb in here. I wouldn't even cook meth! If your kitchen were a show about cooking anything, it'd be called Breaking Sad. Not that I make it a habit to cook bombs or meth, but you get the point.