Open Writing

Early morn. Rain trickled down the windows and the air was cool. A perfect day to clean out the pot cupboard and immediately after breakfast I set about clearing the shelves.

Now the pot cupboard in my home is an extended U shape beneath the bench. It contains cooking utensils one end, plastic ware and a tray of mops and pot scrubbers needed for the washing up in the middle. In one corner a group of handy jars cluster together with the cake mixer, juicer and toasted sandwich maker. Ranged alongside these is a large container for biscuits, one for breakfast cereal and beneath them, bottles of vinegar and oil and an overflow of larger items from the store cupboard. Or so I thought.

In the first five minutes I discovered a box of old cookery books tucked behind a forgotten preserving pan. Amongst them were two Vegan cookbooks. Had I ever wanted to be a vegan? I have done some funny things from time to time. But a Vegan?

I flipped the pages. Peach and Cauliflower Salad. Made with, of course, peaches and cauliflower plus wheatgerm and mustard and cress. I don’t think so. Cashew and Mushroom Roast? That sounds better. Onions, cashews, mushrooms and parsley, 3 whole lemons (?) and ½ kilo of bulgur. What was bulgur? I had no idea. And a quick search in several dictionaries failed to enlighten me.

I returned to clearing the shelves and pulled out another box filled with an assortment of things most of which went into a box I intended to take to a local charity shop. But what was this? I held in my hand a black plastic object shaped like a yacht scraper. When I turned it over I saw down each side of the V shape a row of very sharp metal teeth. My mind was a blank. Then I remembered. It was for opening jars. One slid the lid of the jar into the jaws and gave the jar a light twist and Hey Presto! The lid would fall off. Well, so the brochure said but it never worked for me and I dropped it into the box.

After an hour of high pressure decision making I had sorted, cleaned and replaced needed items in half of the cupboard. While the kettle boiled for tea I pulled things from the rest of the shelves. The pile was so daunting I had a second cup of tea.

Refreshed I began sorting jars. There were so many. Were they secretly multiplying back there in the dark? And where were the lids? A quick fossick brought them to light. There were at least twenty more lids than there were jars. Another hour went by as I found correctly fitting lids, put away jars I wanted and carried the rest through the rain to the recycle bin.

Now to tackle the large plastic bins containing flour and pasta, sugar and salt, nuts and dried fruits. All the things that need protection from inquisitive ants, the occasional cockroach and the furtive searching of a man on a diet. Tucked away in the barrels were all the little treats favoured by our-man-about-the-house before he began the latest diet. Best I destroy them before he finds them.

Another trip out to the rubbish bins.

My knees creaked as I bent to place the last items back into a clean cupboard. It looked good, smelt good and I felt good. Perhaps I should clean the silver while I am on a roll. . .