Useless Stuff

On one of my on-line sale rambles, I came across a page that advertised a fondant smoother. It cost regularly, 12 dollars. I didn't know that you could "smooth" a fondant, not that I dare to make such delicacies. It reminded me to get into "that" drawer which every kitchen owns, and see what I have collected there. When I took over Mom's kitchen, I found small metal pieces that mystified me. I knew she was a cuisine course-taker beyond reason, and when I worked my way to the back of the deep drawer, I found tiny manuals on how to decorate wedding cakes, make party hors d'oeuvres, carve vegetables and brown meringues. A couple of hours later, I sorted out the tools for each operation and began to fathom what it took to accomplish such matters as smoothing fondants, etcetera. I had heard of bacon pressers and bagel cutters but these little tools were instruments of a much finer kitchen occupation. For someone who still uses her long-gone mother-in-law's mother's kitchen ware, I found these were artisan devices that very few haunters of the second-hand stores would relish. No pun intended. Next, I went into my special utensil drawer and took a look at what my heirs might ponder. I had that scoop of my mother-in-law's to be sure, one made of tin likely rather than stainless steel. It's the one that I use instead of the cute little set of four measuring cups. One scoop is a quarter of a cup and the rest is logic. It sort of matches the mottled colour of the serrated bread knife that I depend on. The knife is stained with lemon juice, balsamic vinegar and salts, but it stays sharp forever, and cuts like no other pricey knife on the market today, including the plastic Japanese Samuri sort. Next came the little wooden handled scraper, also made of stained tin. The scraper cleans like no squirt bottle cleaner goop does, such as that to remove the marks on the glass topped stove I once owned. It comes in handy for fry pans (oh yes, black iron ones), when all the soaking in the world won't work. And for stubborn bits on the floor or counters or windows or shoe bottoms, there is nothing like that scraper I protect with my life. But my very favorite kitchen helper is the old, once silver-coated serving spoon, still elaborate with a pattern my grandmother loved and the last of her precious silver plate. It is bent perfectly so that it picks up the final bit of batter, and scoops just the right amount, to fill  muffin tins. The old potato masher, now bent, its handle mostly worn away, takes punishment and stains, too, but it also does the job. No complaints. It's seen more Thanksgiving dinners, summer potato salad picnics and birthday parties than the fancy black plastic one that sits beside my gas stove, charming, but unused. I thought, why do I have all the decor matching kitchen utensils displayed when I seldom, if ever, use them? They are smooth and futuristic, but these venerable tools with their worn handles, scratches, dents and bends, showing the marks of  my family on them, will, I hope, last, so that my grandchildren will learn to use and cherish them as I do.