A Serendipitous Kitchen Mishap
VEW
One fine day, as the birds were chirping and the sun was shining and a gaze out my kitchen window revealed that after three years my gardens were at last showing signs of flourishing, I decided it would be better to prep some food for a party under these idyllic circumstances rather than fitting it in willy-nilly to the mayhem (albeit joyous) that tends to make up Saturdays at home with young children.
My tasks were easy enough, even a bit rote, so perhaps I was daydreaming as I reached out my arm to place the 1.5 liter bottle of olive oil that I keep at hand back in its spot by the stove…and missed. Let me take a moment to set the scene: In the corner of the kitchen where I usually work, there is a large, two- tier lazy susan that is likely supposed to be used for pots and pans. I find that it is much more convenient to store my spices, oils, vinegars, garlic, etc. there instead as everything can be seen in a quick spin. At this given moment, the lazy susan was open, revealing numerous bottles of all sorts of things. On the counter above are glass jars with flour, sugar, etc. and some oils, salt and pepper that I use regularly. Can you picture it? As I reached out to put the probably-too-large bottle of olive oil back, it jumped out of hand smack into the corner—glass hitting granite--and simultaneously spewing oil and tiny fragments of glass all over the top of the counter and its inhabitants and more horrifyingly, the lazy susan and all it contained. Now, when my stove was installed, one of the feet broke just slightly enough to make the oven ever so uneven that whenever I make a cake I have to arrange the layer just so or I have a sadly lopsided cake…I was not so lucky with the lazy susan. It was installed impeccably, and somehow doesn’t sag under the weight of everything it is forced to carry; I found this out as the oil quickly engulfed all the spices from B to T (yes, I alphabetize them) encompassing about 320 degrees of the circle--47 bottles of oil soaked glass and paper.
After cleaning up the glass, which stuck like shrapnel to the sides of so many bottles and occasionally my fingers, I began the long and tedious process of bathing each bottle in hot, soapy water and massaging them clean with towels. As I was doing this though, my woe-is-me pitying of myself turned to thoughts about cooking and why I love it so much as to have all this junk in the first place (and yes, I use it all…except perhaps for the pickling spice. Just why would I have that?). This is what I realized, again, for I have had this epiphany before: cooking brings people together, allows you to serve people you love and enjoy and reminds of times and places. Eating together is one of the most intimate things people do—across all cultures and times. As I washed off each individual bottle, stories came flooding into my head; the tasty Garam Masala from a little shop the my sister-in-law discovered and gave as a gift along with a great cookbook from Madhur Jaffrey, the copious yellow-labeled bottles from Penzey's Spices that I was turned on to by CLN of this blog, the saffron that was brought back from Turkey by a friend of a friend and shared with me. Washing the paprika I began remembering the first time I decided I liked hummus—at a party given by a friend who I’ve lost touch with and shouldn’t have. It seems silly and sentimental, but the preparation of certain meals and use of certain spices reminds me of travels with my husband and dear friends, of people come and gone, of who we were before we had kids, of who we are since having kids. It truly is one of the threads that makes up the tapestry of life and this little mishap made me take a rare minute (or 25 really) to contemplate how blessed I have been in life, how much I love the people with whom I’ve shared meals and of all the meals I look forward to sharing in the future.
So while I can not recommend shattering your own bottle full of olive oil all over your kitchen, I can say that life’s too short to eat without thinking or cook without caring—at least some of the time. Food is sustenance in so many more ways that the obvious. Perhaps that’s why heaven is often described as one big feast. Count me in. Cheers!
One fine day, as the birds were chirping and the sun was shining and a gaze out my kitchen window revealed that after three years my gardens were at last showing signs of flourishing, I decided it would be better to prep some food for a party under these idyllic circumstances rather than fitting it in willy-nilly to the mayhem (albeit joyous) that tends to make up Saturdays at home with young children.
My tasks were easy enough, even a bit rote, so perhaps I was daydreaming as I reached out my arm to place the 1.5 liter bottle of olive oil that I keep at hand back in its spot by the stove…and missed. Let me take a moment to set the scene: In the corner of the kitchen where I usually work, there is a large, two- tier lazy susan that is likely supposed to be used for pots and pans. I find that it is much more convenient to store my spices, oils, vinegars, garlic, etc. there instead as everything can be seen in a quick spin. At this given moment, the lazy susan was open, revealing numerous bottles of all sorts of things. On the counter above are glass jars with flour, sugar, etc. and some oils, salt and pepper that I use regularly. Can you picture it? As I reached out to put the probably-too-large bottle of olive oil back, it jumped out of hand smack into the corner—glass hitting granite--and simultaneously spewing oil and tiny fragments of glass all over the top of the counter and its inhabitants and more horrifyingly, the lazy susan and all it contained. Now, when my stove was installed, one of the feet broke just slightly enough to make the oven ever so uneven that whenever I make a cake I have to arrange the layer just so or I have a sadly lopsided cake…I was not so lucky with the lazy susan. It was installed impeccably, and somehow doesn’t sag under the weight of everything it is forced to carry; I found this out as the oil quickly engulfed all the spices from B to T (yes, I alphabetize them) encompassing about 320 degrees of the circle--47 bottles of oil soaked glass and paper.
After cleaning up the glass, which stuck like shrapnel to the sides of so many bottles and occasionally my fingers, I began the long and tedious process of bathing each bottle in hot, soapy water and massaging them clean with towels. As I was doing this though, my woe-is-me pitying of myself turned to thoughts about cooking and why I love it so much as to have all this junk in the first place (and yes, I use it all…except perhaps for the pickling spice. Just why would I have that?). This is what I realized, again, for I have had this epiphany before: cooking brings people together, allows you to serve people you love and enjoy and reminds of times and places. Eating together is one of the most intimate things people do—across all cultures and times. As I washed off each individual bottle, stories came flooding into my head; the tasty Garam Masala from a little shop the my sister-in-law discovered and gave as a gift along with a great cookbook from Madhur Jaffrey, the copious yellow-labeled bottles from Penzey's Spices that I was turned on to by CLN of this blog, the saffron that was brought back from Turkey by a friend of a friend and shared with me. Washing the paprika I began remembering the first time I decided I liked hummus—at a party given by a friend who I’ve lost touch with and shouldn’t have. It seems silly and sentimental, but the preparation of certain meals and use of certain spices reminds me of travels with my husband and dear friends, of people come and gone, of who we were before we had kids, of who we are since having kids. It truly is one of the threads that makes up the tapestry of life and this little mishap made me take a rare minute (or 25 really) to contemplate how blessed I have been in life, how much I love the people with whom I’ve shared meals and of all the meals I look forward to sharing in the future.
So while I can not recommend shattering your own bottle full of olive oil all over your kitchen, I can say that life’s too short to eat without thinking or cook without caring—at least some of the time. Food is sustenance in so many more ways that the obvious. Perhaps that’s why heaven is often described as one big feast. Count me in. Cheers!
2 comments:
What a lovely post. I have enjoyed the meals we have shared together...all your life...
Count me in! (PB)
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