Reading the latest chapter of Robyn's wonderful novel, Maryann; padding round the kitchen, watching Alice try to figure out how to work the coffee machine (Robyn's eye for detail is as perceptive as ever), I'm reminded of a confused middle-aged man recently faced with caffeinated mayhem in my own kitchen and the growing realisation that my life is becoming a strange and sometimes spooky place for my addled brain to inhabit.
Measuring up for next year's planned house extension, I'm standing in the old kitchen, mentally sketching out the new one and making an inventory of all the storage space I'm likely to need.
Let's go through the cupboards …
Okay, I know I've lost the odd decade of my life ('85 through '95 is a complete blank, and there are other gaps, too), but I start emptying cupboards with an increasing sense of incredulity.
I must have cleaned around all this shit a hundred times, so why do I find, sitting and gleaming guiltily at me, five coffee machines I cannot ever remember buying?
Yup. Five (count 'em) nice shiny new Italian spurty coffee machines … and eight cafetieres … and an old percolator … and a selection of those octagonal aluminium espresso makers …
One of the machines is still in its box.
I have no memory of any of these things.
Mental note to self. "Okay, boy; you're getting old."
Oh, that's not counting the cute little octagonal espresso maker sitting on the worktop beside the bag of Cuban coffee beans. I actually use that one.
Now I'm not a gadget freak; I'm a purist cook. No girly blenders or food processors for me; it's strictly good Sabatier knives and a pestle and mortar. No stupid pasta makers or ice cream makers or bread makers when it's MUCH more fun to make stuff properly.
So why do I have a kitchen full of coffee machines?
A few phone calls to family and friends elicits no hope of finding a good home for any of these caffeine orphans, so off they go to the village jumble sale.
"Ooh! A coffee machine. That's nice … Oh. And another one … er … and etc."
You get the picture …
So … Do I sleepwalk to the shops and buy coffee machines? Is there a wormhole in my cupboards leading to the Gaggia factory in Italy? Is someone playing an elaborate hoax on a jelly-minded old man?
I'm keeping a close watch on the cupboards from now on. If another coffee machine suddenly appears I may start to scream.
I need a coffee …
27 comments:
Aahh, breakfast with Dive: I like this post! It's full of picture words and phrases like spurty and jelly minded.
I don't know how those things accumulate. I only have one coffee maker, but it's on its way out, I'm afraid. I have an electric espresso maker, though, and a bread machine I don't use, and an ice cream maker I don't use, and a waffle iron I don't use. I DO use the food processor, though. It comes in handy for things like pesto.
Ahh, lunch with Robyn (drat that time difference).
Oh dear … Doctor Freud is standing over me looking very stern. I can't imagine where all that spurty and jelly-minded stuff came from …
There seems to be a whole industry geared to selling us machines we only use a couple of times before going back to the old fashioned ways.
The nearest thing to a gadget I have in the kitchen is a little silver ball infuser I use to make tea.
And pesto in a pestle and mortar is such a wonderful textural and sensory experience. Just inhale! Mmmm!
The pestle and mortar approach does sound much more earthy--gets you connected with the food.
I'm chuckling over the Freud thing. You didn't use those two words in the same thought, though. So maybe you weren't subconsciously thinking about something other than your kitchen. Hmmm
Who knows what my subconscious gets up to when I'm not looking (other than buying coffee machines I have no use for)?
Honestly though, I was simply thinking about coffee and the strange holes through which my memory is disappearing …
And that's another thing: pestle and mortar sets. I use different types for different uses; I'm dreading counting them when I get home …
Explain why you need more than just one? Is it size? Is it what they're made of? Oops, now that sounds a little Freudian, but really, I'm just curious. I only have one :)
I have a lovely big old rough iron one for curry spices (ground up while they're still hot from dry-frying … Wow, what an aroma)!
A marble one I musn't put lemon juice in; one for pesto; a couple of wooden ones; one I just use for fruit and stuff; another ceramic one I …
Okay, okay, so I'm obsessive and I like pestle and mortars … They're my friends …
It is clear that your cooking skills are much more advanced than mine. People tell me I should cater, but I'm afraid it's only because they don't know any better. The catering around here is a sad display--canned corn and baked ziti and salad made with head lettuce and ranch dressing. If that's all you're used to, it doesn't take much to be impressed.
Catering here is just as woeful and uninspired, I'm afraid.
As for my cooking; Mum had a restaurant for a few years and I learned a lot there (my brother's a great cook), but mostly I learned about fresh food and the joy of preparation from Jorge in Portugal.
And old chum Lady Caroline (raised in India at the end of the Raj) taught me more about regional curries than most Indians will ever know.
I only keep one cookbook in the kitchen; the huge Prue Leith one. And I never follow recipes.
And I like to sing opera or heavy metal while I'm cooking.
And I conduct with a messy spoon.
And perhaps I shouldn't be telling you all this …
This is exactly what you should be telling me. You've painted a great picture of a guy in his kitchen--it goes with the clock on the wall.
I have so many cookbooks because I don't know how to cook without them. My mother was a southern cook who only knew the basics--fried chicken, fried ocra, coconut cake, and corn bread. I learned absolutely nothing at home and hated cooking at all until years ago when I learned what food could be like--something not fried.
Sounds like everyone you know is going to get a coffee machine for Christmas.
Sorry, Pea. They've all gone. That was a couple of months ago.
Talking of which; just what DO you want for Christmas? Yours is the only prezzy I haven't yet bought, so this is your chance to ask for something you actually want.
Robyn, I just had to check back in your comments to verify it but yes, you outnumber me by ninety-seven to fifty-seven cookbooks.
I still only use one in the kitchen, however; the others are just porn.
Porn cookbooks. I hope they are at least illustrated. There's nothing worse that a cookbook with no pictures.
The Japanese ones are the best.
On hot, muggy days when no sane person could possibly have an appetite, I'll put on a drool-bib and look at the photos.
Works every time. I'm hungry just thinking about it. Now I'm going to have to pop in to Sushi Happy Hour on my way home.
The imagery of porn cookbooks and your inspiration to buy sushi is pretty darn ammusing.
Now it's your turn to get a visit from our good Viennese doctor …
tee hee
That's funny. I happen to have three of those stovetop espresso pots, but everyone who knows me knows that I usually use a French press.
I'm with Peahen. Regift, regift, regift.
National Drunk Blogging Day. What's this?
as I sit and sip my usual late Friday afternoon hazelnut creme flavored brew I realized I have but one coffee machine. Maybe I could use another? Why don't you send one of those machine across the pond to me dive.
They're all long gone down the village hall charity jumble sale I'm afraid.
Tell you what; if I subconsciously buy any more and find them lurking in the cupboard, you can have the dratted things.
Dive strikes it rich on eBay.
Hey there Sass-ster.
I did wonder who would be the first to be snared by National Drunk Blogging Day …
It's ideal for me as I always have to stay sober over NYE and spend the day bored out of my skull in a hotel room waiting to go on stage at eleven pm and play through to two, watching a load of obnoxious fucking drunks snogging one another, then drive home sober for breakfast.
Er … did any bile creep in there?
Hey! How's things with Pepe Le Pew?
Something strange happened. I was trying to post, and it wouldn't let me. If this shows up twice, my apologies.
The bile did creep through a bit, I'm afraid....
I just wrote this whole thing about his Pepeness, and I don't feel like repeating it. He's just not for me, I think. There is this hot Canadian new to the Boston area who I winked at, and we'll see if he responds.
Hot Canadian?
Is that not an oxymoron?
Good luck, however he turns out.
Hehe.. Hilarious!
Think it'd be interesting to see what other treasures you unearth- keep us posted!
There's a treasure just for you in today's post, Utsav.
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