Seeking clarity within the kitchen clutter
Remember that time the dish ran away with the spoon? Good bloody luck to them, I say. They can have each other. I’ve had it with cutlery and kitchen implements. You know those old-style can openers? No fuss, no extra bits, no fancy packaging? They never came with claims about how you’d keep all your fingers and would never need another rabies or tetanus shot again.
I need to buy one. I’ve got a modern contraption that promises to lift the lid of a can leaving smooth edges, no danger to digits. This would be fine if you could get the can opener on the can to start with.
Last night I was making a curry. it looked a bit dry so I found a tiny can of coconut milk which I’d stashed up the back of the cupboard for such dry culinary disasters.
I picked up the enormous white plastic can opener and began a 15-minute performance during which there were a healthy number of cuss words and a fistfight with a tiny piece of tin followed by a 10-minute hunt for a plaster.
I sat back and thought, ‘‘Why can’t they just make things like the old days?’’
Grandma’s utensil drawer consisted of pretty much a wooden spoon and an eggbeater and she seemed to survive.
I’ve got every modern instrument known to Kenwood and Kambrook and the clutter drives me nuts. What I’d give to be satisfied with a plan old rusty triangle-shaped cheese grater.
Mymumhas clearly been watching too much daytime telly lately because last month I picked up my phone to discover a series of text messages imploring me to call.
‘‘I’ve got some exciting news,’’ she wrote. ‘‘Call me as soon as you can.’’
Before I’d even had the chance to ask if it could wait, she was calling. I picked up immediately, predicting a family Lotto win or something.
Nope. She’d bought a NutriBullet— a nutrition extraction device— and had a spare one for me. I now regret how deflated I must have sounded. There she was, on the end of the line from Timaru but sounding like she was in orbit and frankly a bit high, telling me all about the life-saving NutriBullet whereas I responded like she’d rung with news of imminent death.
Some weeks later, when we spoke again, I apologised and said I’d come down to collect the thing.
‘‘Oh no,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve already given it to a neighbour.’’
I imagined my mother running around the neighbourhood with a spare NutriBullet in her hand, tripping on all those nutrients and evangelising about the thing.
I just wonder if I could put a Jelly Tip in there and make it healthy.
Years ago I went to a Tupperware party and bought a potato masher. It’s black and plastic and I hate it. It sticks out of my utensil holder and tips everything over.
I stare at photos of kitchens on the internet and dream of a kitchen with a drawer to keep my spices and copper utensils hanging uniformly from a rack on the ceiling, but this is not my life.
My life is filled with can openers that want to kill me. My life includes tongs that go missing just when the sausages need turning and knives that hide behind the oven when I need them most. Reading back, I sound a bit stressed. If only I had a delicious NutriBlast shake packed with all the goodness and fibre of fresh fruit and vegetables.
My life includes tongs that go missing just when the sausages need turning and knives that hide behind the oven when I need them most.