Meat thermometers and fat
separators were among the myriad of items my mom brought to me to equip my
first kitchen. No matter that I was a
vegetarian at the time, soon enough I would get serious and come to my senses
she surmised. She has strong opinions
about what belongs in a kitchen and stopping the influx of rectangular 9x14
Pyrex baking dishes over the years required an official statement, not an easy
thing to do with mothers. But my stack
of glass cookware had gotten so tall that it was in danger of toppling over and
breaking someone’s finger. And, honestly,
a supply of 15 pie plates is more than enough, especially when you don’t bake
pies. One notable item, one that she
snuck in under the radar and a bag of cookies, was a shiny brand new looking
food mill. “This is what you need to
make applesauce” she confided, as if---AS IF- I would ever make homemade
applesauce. In fact, just looking at the
handle elicited some odd remembrances from childhood that gave me pause. But of course, I thanked her in the only way
you can when you don’t want something and put it in the back of the cabinet. It has been quite some time that I have
actually even thought about it.
But recently, I happened upon
a wonderful book called “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up” by Marie
Kondo. You might have seen a review of
this book in the NY Times magazine recently.
It truly is life changing----if, and only if, you do not have awkward
fitting appliances like applesauce mills.
Her main thesis is to move things on in your life that do not bring you
joy. I started with my underwear drawer,
which was very clear cut, moved on to socks, then shirts. I tasted some freedom of which she described,
leaving me yearning for more. But all
that stuff was comparatively easy, as my resolve was truly tested when I got
held up on old letters from the box in the basement. Old friends came to life
and I had to, of course, reread the notes and then track them down on Facebook, a time consuming task.
I reread the book for
inspiration and decided the kitchen would be the next logical step, more manageable with fewer emotional ties. What was I thinking? I might as well have been in the Fire Swamp
scene from The Princess Bride.
Everywhere I looked there was a gifted appliance from my generous mom that
I needed, including 1950’s era flour/sugar/coffee/tea containers rescued from
my mom’s dear friend’s estate sale. Let
me point out humbly here that there is no chapter in this book for this particular
situation. None. My mom had delivered them with such pride of
accomplishment-- and belief-- that I had the depth to appreciate their ageless
beauty, efficiency and practicality. It
turns out that Life Changing Magic of Tidying isn’t quite so simple.
Now, in the meantime, there
was an event this week that confirmed that I am just unready for total and
complete decluttering. Strolling along on Facebook, I happened to click on “crockpot
recipes for some easy dinner ideas.” It
has been so cold out, after all, that a crockpot seems to be a solution of some
kind. Unexpectedly, among the dinner
ideas was a recipe for simple crockpot applesauce. It coincided with a moment in time when
Charlie, who happens to love applesauce, was all out of the individual
container variety. How fun, I thought,
to make him some warm applesauce in the crockpot! It would be so easy. So, a few days later I picked up some apples at
the store. In the meantime, I had
actually forgotten why I was making
applesauce because I had forgotten about the crockpot article. I just remembered to buy apples because they
were on the list. When I got home, I googled
applesauce recipes (still forgetting about the crockpot) which just entailed coring
them, slicing them and putting them on a pot on the stove. Which I did.
The next step in the recipe
was to puree the apples and of course I had several options here –the immersion
blender? my Cuisinart? the Vitamix? Great
options! But wait. I suddenly remembered about the applesauce
mill in the back of the cabinet. So a
few minutes later, there I was, in the kitchen, rinsing off that dusty thing
and turning the squeaky handle. It was a
decidedly odd feeling spinning the cooked apples. It had been a long journey to
this moment. Years in fact. What had I been avoiding? I wondered what
Marie Kondo would say about this. My
boys, staring at me, asked why I was making applesauce.
“Because I don’t like freedom, I guess?” was my reply.
