That's Not the Whole Story

A lack of passion, that's the story. No consuming interest. No obsession. But, wait. That's not the whole story. Yes, it's true that I waver and vacillate—I waffle, even, and change my interests as I change my shirt. But no passion? No. That's not the whole story.

 

Part of the truth is that my passions often don't last. Some people's passions continue, deepen, and grow throughout their lives. But not mine.  My passions are more like passing flings. Infatuations rather than the love of a lifetime.

 

But again—that's not the whole story. I have remained passionate about a few things through the years, but they're pretty mundane. Are you ready for this?

 

Waffle irons, for example.

 

Strainers and colanders, for example.

 

Funnels, for example.

 

If I had more storage space in my kitchen, I would own a dozen functioning waffle irons. As it is, I have three, one of them a stove-top model (i.e., it is not an electrical appliance but must be set on a stove burner).

 

But first, the story of my favorite waffle iron. When we were still living in Alabama, one year my mother-in-law gave me for Christmas a large waffle iron. It opened like a book and lay flat on the counter, and it made a waffle that was about 10 by 10", divided into four by little ridges. It was a beautiful waffle iron. But it was more than that. Each of the waffle grids could be removed from the appliance and turned over, to form two flat griddle surfaces—large enough to cook four flapjacks on each side. I could make eight pancakes at a time; perfect for a growing family. I also used those flat panels as a panini maker (though the word was unknown in North America at the time). I drizzled the outsides of the sandwiches with olive oil, place them on one side of the flat griddle, then close the "book" so that the waffle iron (flat side showing) pressed the sandwiches together, toasting both sides at the same time.

 

What a marvelous waffle iron.

 

Years passed. The rheostat or resistor—the part that creates the redness in the coils of a waffle iron/griddle—wore out. I found a highly recommended repair shop for small appliances and took my beloved waffle iron to them. In two weeks I got it back—but it was not fixed! The small amount of heat generated was definitely not enough to cook a waffle, let alone to brown it.

 

Back to the shop.

 

Two weeks later I picked it up. Same story.

 

It was clear that the repairman's idea of what constituted a working waffle iron was not mine.

 

Back to the shop. Two weeks later: "All done," they said. When I went to pick it up, they had, as a "favor," and to repay me for having had to make repeated visits, cleaned my waffle iron plates by dipping them in one of those grease-removing chemicals. In just a few minutes they had managed to wipe off ten years of seasoning, ten years of creating exactly the right surface for cooking waffles.

 

They were so proud of the favor they had done me--and I was so timid-—that I never told them how much I hated their "improvement." I took my waffle iron home. And it still didn't get hot enough to bake a waffle. So, since it was no longer functional, that waffle iron didn't make the cut when I moved to Toronto. I still mourn it, even though I no longer have a big family of waffle-eaters to cook for.

 

To compensate for its loss, I began watching for waffle irons at all garage sales. I now have, in addition to the previously mentioned stove-top version, an oblong waffle maker that makes a waffle about the size of an average book, and a round one that belonged to my mother. I had had my mother's since her death but never used it. Then I bought a new cord for it, the old-fashioned kind of cord where one end plugs into the waffle iron's two prongs and the other into the wall socket.

 

I would have more waffle irons, but I am too mature now to scratch my itch. The cold steel of reason muffles my inner clamor for more, more. I'm glad for that, but I can still hear that muffled clamor.

 

Strainers are another story. You can never have too many strainers. I don't have favorites, and only a few of mine are antiques. Most of them have a metal mesh, but two are all plastic. Here's why you need a lot of strainers: you need at least three different diameters (small, medium, and large) and at least three different mesh sizes in each diameter.

 

Finally the strainers you purchase get bigger and bigger until they are colanders. And oh, you can never have too many colanders. Some of mine are metal with holes, some have a steel mesh supported by metal braces, some are plastic. One beautiful one is navy blue ceramic, but I dropped something on it and took a big chunk out of it. It's still a colander, but it isn't as beautiful as it used to be. Generally, for a colander, you want lightweight and heat-proof (so boiling water won't melt it). The navy blue ceramic one was never very practical, but it was beautiful.

 

You definitely need at least one very large colander in your collection (the diameter of a snare drum, if not a bass drum) for straining huge amounts of pasta when you are entertaining the marching band.

 

Oh yes. You need lots and lots of colanders.

 

Shall we continue in this same vein on the topic of funnels? Surely you understand that you that you need both big and little funnels. Even if you don't do canning any longer, you need a couple of canning funnels, whose bottom opening just fits inside a Mason jar. These are very useful for filling jars with lentils, rice, leftover soup--whatever it is that you store in jars. And then you need smaller funnels for filling smaller jars or skinny-necked bottles. For ease of storage, many of your funnels will nest neatly.

 

Waffle irons. Strainers and colanders. Funnels. The foot-soldiers of the kitchen battery.

 

Who says I'm not passionate?

 

 Copyright 2009 Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com