But last night, standing around waiting for the coffee to drip through the filter (yeah, I know, exciting life, eh?), I opened the drawer with utensils to see what I could see. Then I opened a couple more drawers, and a cupboard or two.
Here’s what I found:
1. Four red lobster-claw crackers. I have only a vague memory of ever cooking a lobster at home; if I’m not hallucinating, that would have been more than 20 years ago.
2. Four bottle-opener keys. I generally open bottles with a.) the corkscrew or b.) a twist of my wrist.
3. Four yellow plastic wine glasses, which I envisioned using outside. But I prefer my wine in glass goblets, which cost 50 cents at Goodwill, so who cares if they break.
5. A chipped Waterford red claret glass, in the coveted but discontinued Alana pattern. The chip isn’t big enough to throw the glass away, but I never use it. I sold the other 11 stems when I realized a.) I didn’t want to take them outside and b.) they don’t hold enough wine by today’s standards.
6. My mother’s nutcracker. Haven’t cracked a nut in decades. They come in bags now.
7. Two sterling pickle forks that belonged to my grandmother, Bobbi. I also had five cordial glasses that Bobbi’s sister gave her–“If there had been six,” the sister said, “I would have kept them for myself.” A cleaning lady broke one, so now I have a nice even number. The glasses are packed away and the pickle forks will soon join them.
8. A wooden lemon reamer, given to me by a friend who insisted I couldn’t live without one. I can.
9. A large tined implement for slicing multi-layered cakes; a rod for sharpening knives; a pastry cutting something or other, which I first mistook for a potato masher, and a device for cutting the aluminum around wine corks–who does that?
10. Two garlic presses, one fancy, one simple. The fancy one I probably bought during a phase when I thought I was going to cook, not assemble meals. The simple one I bought when Max was in fourth grade because we needed to press out some clay curls for the Indians in his Native American project, and the fancy press didn’t work.
11. My son’s baby spoons and forks. As I recall, he ate mostly with his hands.
12. Two sets–two!–of chopsticks. One in a rosewood box, the other set–less-fancy–loose in the drawer. Neither set has been used. And let’s not forget the 12 black stone chopstick rests, and the six ceramic soup spoons. Did I mention I once had delusions of myself cooking?
13. Six individual crystal salt cellars and six little spoons for sprinkling the salt.
There you have it. Five minutes and a baker’s dozen of things to take to Goodwill. Sometime soon, when I gather strength, I’ll reveal my china habit. Stay tuned.