Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Tales from my kitchen

What do you think?

It's hard to find an illustration for the point I want to make. Everything is relative and unless you see this fork next to my hand, it probably doesn't make much of an impression.

Here's my complaint: I've noticed, over the last few years, that cutlery in restaurants is getting bigger and bigger. And heavier. I find it not only ugly but difficult to handle and not at all pleasant to eat with. I really dislike those gigantic forks. Who likes those? The one in the photo looks too wide but it doesn't look thick enough or heavy enough to be as annoying as they are in real life.

Last year, I had some major dental work done. My dentist told me (other dentists have also told me) I have a very small mouth. Maybe that has something to do with my cutlery choices.

Or maybe I'm just being fussy.

At home, there are no worries about cutlery. Dan usually sets the table and sometimes, if William's around, Dan will say, as he's putting plates on, something like, "Grab the cutlery on your way by." Neither one of them even has to think about it now: Mama's fork and knife choices are very specific and they're happy to oblige. If, by chance I sit down and see that my lovely small fork has mistakenly been placed in someone else's place setting, I do a dramatic and very audible gasp. It's such a recognizable gasp that the error is quickly corrected. They're both very easy-going and they don't seem to mind.

Spoons are a whole other story. I use three different spoons for ice cream, fruit salad and soft-boiled eggs. To me, the choice of these spoons makes a lot of sense but I suspect to others, it seems beyond quirky and verging on neurotic.

I do have minor control issues but so far, I think my cutlery preoccupation is under control. I haven't yet started to take my own fork in my purse when I go out for dinner. It might be a good way to make a point though.

Still in the kitchen – our dishwasher is broken. We're awaiting a part and in the meantime, we're washing dishes by hand.

It's not a big deal except for this: the dishpan we're using is the very same dishpan my mother used in our house on Princess St. in Chatham, NB when I was a teenager. That's a few years ago now.

There are two amazing things about this dishpan. The first is that I even have it, after many moves over the years. Somehow, it has stuck with me. The second is that it even still exists, almost as good as new. Imagine something that would normally be considered temporary turning out to be almost permanent.

It looks like this:

Rubbermaid, I believe.

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