I, admittingly, am not a gifted, talented or even a decent cook, but still, I cook. I’ll use a crockpot but not a pressure pot. I pull out a nonstick skillet before I drag out the iron one. I use a blender for alcoholic drinks, a toaster for toast and have a favorite old spatula that has lived a good life.
I love that spatula.
My husband is the kitchen gadget guy. Randy loves a sturdy apple slicer, a slim potato peeler, and an ice cream scoop that heats up in your hand. He delights in knives in various sizes and hoards measuring spoons even though somehow; they all measure the same. He has spatulas for eggs and hamburgers and pancakes; in other words, a spatula for everything.
All in the kitchen junk drawer.
Now that my closets are clean and uncluttered, it was time I moved on to the kitchen. I planned to take everything out of the cabinets and decide if each item needed to go back where I found it or somewhere else that might be more logical.
Like in the trash.
That night at supper, I made the announcement that I would be cleaning out the kitchen cabinets the next day. Over the years I have learned to make these announcements prior to making a household change, that way, it allows my husband to rant or rave or remain silent. Randy is not one to make changes willingly, nor does he take them well. He is a creature of habit and will put something down, never use it, but expect it to be there twenty years later.
After all, he might need it.
Randy has coped with the closet cleaning I have done so far because those things weren’t his things. When I told him my empty out the cabinets plan, that caught his attention. Then I said, “That includes everything, even the kitchen junk drawer.”
That’s when my husband pulled out the “kitchen contract”, something I have never heard of before.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard