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If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know about my obsession with kitchen accoutrements. Well, and, admittedly - my obsessiveness in general, I suppose. Clearly, it seeps through - whether I try to caulk it or not - there IT is. Bah! Who cares, right? I'm here, I'm weird, get used it. Although - speaking of weirdness, I do spend a rather ridiculous amount of time in Sur la Table - so much so - there are times when I almost want to pretend that I'm NOT me - as in "Oh no, I'm Ann's twin's sister! You didn't know she had one? HOW funny! Now, where did you say the cooking tools or whatever they're called were? Over there? Oh, thanks. This is my first time here, so I'll probably be awhile. An espresso? Oh I couldn't, to be sure. Well, if you insist. Yes, I'll give my sister your regards!"
Not to mention the various other cooking stores I must frequent to stock my shelves and stuff my kitchen - I have EYES to feed, don't they understand? At times, I walk in these stores for the gazillionth time, with love in my eyes - the store clerks probably taking bets behind my back over which tartlet pan I'll obsess over today - and I want to proclaim, victoriously, in a stage-whisper - "It's a GIFT". And then nod judgmentally at their prejudgment of me. Spritz myself with some holy-and-some-haughty and proceed. Okay, I don't own that spritz - plus, I'm usually wearing a baseball hat and therefore, could not rock The Haughty and Holy, but it is fun to consider. Carrying on...
Well, this time it was a gift. FOR YOU, dear readers. I was in line, with my GIFTS, having them rung up by the cashier. I'm gazing at the cashier, at those standing in line behind me - and I'm nodding approvingly at myself as I whisper, almost imperceptibly and conspiratorially, to those around me "It's a GIFT!" - and they all look at me like "We don't care anything about it, crazy gift lady! Move along!". Well, they just didn't understand my excitement about these particular accoutrements, now did they? Fork buyers.
You remember the spoons and the mug (celebrities of my accoutrements)? Oh swoon! Well, a few readers have emailed to ask where-oh-where can I obtain those spoons for my very own? Since they are the darlings, the pimpettes of my kitchen, I decided to give them to you. Well, to one of you, that is. I am giving away the measuring cups, the spoons, and the liquid measuring pitcher. [Okay, I confess - when I went to purchase these - there were literally TWO sets of measuring spoons left, PERIOD. Well, damn if I didn't buy that very last set of spoons as a back-up to my set. THAT'S RIGHT. All I need now is a back-up for my back-up and I'm SET.]
How to win these Pimpettes of the kitchen? Just leave a comment -> in the comment, tell me what your favorite kitchen accoutrement is - I would love to hear that I am not alone in my j'adorement of the little things in life. Please enter no later than 5:00 pm MST Saturday, June 7th - I'll announce the winner Saturday evening. I was going to restrict this to U.S. residents only, but because so many of my readers are international - that just didn't sit right with me. SO, if you're an international reader, I'll pay up to $20 in shipping - beyond that - you're on your own, darlin', but we'll figure something out.
One entry per person please.
Well, I've been thinking about my kitchen accoutrements again.
This is my mug. She has been with me, every morning, for almost 5 years now. I have known her - held her between my greedy, needy paws - longer than I have known my husband. Like a hockey player approaching the Stanley Cup tournament, I feel superstitious posting about her - I worry that she will crack under the pressure. What if tomorrow she breaks because today I gossiped about her?
She looks benign enough (I mean, polka dots?) - but this robin's egg colored CHALICE - this venerable gives-me-the-shakes-when-I-see-it caffeine delivery vehicle is my morning muse. I wake - and - knowing she is not far, am willing to move - I schlep out of my dreadful, insomniac, pinch-faced haze - grabbing a sweatshirt, turning off the AC - hoping to sweat Tony from his slumber - I shouldn't be the only sleepless, suffering, sack of...well, anyways.
I drag toward the kitchen, questionably conscious - arm raising forward, pointer-finger beginning to stretch into extended position - almost there - PUSH BUTTON - whirrrr, tick, tick - drizzzzzzzzle. The espresso shot begins. Let the crema ensue. I shall prevail. I am woman, hear me snore! Add the vanilla syrup, steam the milk, froth excessively just because I can, pour into espresso shots, stir gently. Too hot, but sip anyways - ooooooh, baby, come to momma. I am RISEN. I cup both freezing paws around this gloriously over-sized mug - it fits perfectly and burns my skin a little. Bring it, mug-o-lovah.
Sipping and savoring, I contemplate important global considerations, such as, how did I ever survive before my super-automatic espresso machine? Does Tony sleep late just to stick it to me? What was my dog dreaming about? Why am I "blog-thinking" in the middle of the night? Why is that dude at the bead store always such a jack to me? Is it because he is a dude, and working at a bead store? Why do I have 28 mugs (I counted) when I use just this one? What is that about?
Um...you might be thinking...OCD, perhaps? Good point. I'll uh...look into that...again. I think it goes back to my obsession with kitchen accoutrements and somehow - artistically and aesthetically and experientially - certain objects just hook me. In other words, we bond - me and this mug. It's my one true mug.
So, if you come to my house and see this gorgeous hunk of mugoliciousness - you should know not to use it. Or, touch it. Or, if you do touch it - then, touch it 7 times, put it away twice - then turn the espresso machine on and off, x 3.
I'm choosy about tools - aka my kitchen accoutrements, as I like to think of them (I like the "warbly" feel of that word, accoutrement, no?). I don't know what it is, really, but I almost have to find them somehow attractive. What is that? Partly, I suppose, it's the design I might like - just the pure, utter, sculptural shape of something that is also useful. Other times, it might be the sound something makes - for example, I'm mesmerized by the sound of my Global knife against my well-worn, lovingly-slash-marked, gorgeously and personally distressed (but not emotionally) wooden cutting board (sidebar: when I walk by the cutting board, I sometimes unconsciously just run my hand over it and I catch Tony giving me that *you freak* look, so I just give him the *I know* look - I mean, I do know).
I love oddly shaped bowls (see eggplant dip bowl), perhaps because their more natural edge and shape reminds me of the more natural state of the food I'm starting with. I like wooden spoons that show their age, their scars, their chars - I love their different shapes and grains. I have little wooden trays that must be out with something upon them at all times (garlic or what not), just so they have a reason to be out. My Mexican molcajete is just so appealing, that it too must be out at all times - though is seldom used, pobrecita. And don't even get me started on all my cooking tools that hang above the stove, gasp, waiting to be plucked from their stations - so they can use what their Mommas gave 'em. Oh my. (*I know*)
Sigh. Gaze off into yonder. Wistful smile. But really, I'd have to say that perhaps the darling of my kitchen - my petite coquette - is probably my set of little white measuring spoons. That's right. Look upon them now.
Aren't they adorable? Now, I know they are not a whoa-stop-me-in-my-tracks kind of thing. I get that. They used to live in one of my drawers; recently, I pulled them out and let them live on the counter - as you see them here, in their current existence. It changed everything. I am inspired by their new visibility - each day, I see them and think "what shall I make today? what needs to be measured? what could Tony and I make this weekend? just look at that little, enthralling still-life-with-spoons!" - ridiculous as it sounds, these freakin' spoons inspire me! And, they are high on the accoutrement food-chain too, let me tell you - they are almost never relegated to the dishwasher. These babies are hand washed, dried and placed back in their still-life as soon as possible. And the whole inspiration process begins again. Sitting just behind the spoons in position, literally and figuratively, is my milk-white-glass liquid measuring pitcher - about which I could also go on and on - it is so lusciously retro and modern all at the same time, and that duality - for me - harnesses power akin to nothing short of a Dyson vacuum. Man, I love that stinkin' little pitcher.
It's the little things, people. They all add up to the big thing, I suppose. Now, what is the big thing again?
