Monday, February 15, 2010
My Name Is Shrinky, And I Am An Addict
So, guess who got a deep-fat-frier for Valentine's day?
And who says romance is dead?
(Never mind, I got him a scuba-diving lesson in the Irish sea - and well, we all know how treacherous the currents in there can get, now don't we? Cue evil cackle..)
Oh, never mind me, the truth is we both got what we asked for, and after over twenty years of celebrating this day together, I say sod the hearts and flowers, give me something more practical any day. 'Sides, we did still manage a walk on the beach (as witnessed by my wind-blown image up there) AND an evening meal out on our own, which is not so very a common event for the pair of us, and very nice it was too.
Mind, I am non too impressed with this new gizmo of mine, so far me onion rings and straw chips are far too limp and soggy, maybe it's the oil, the temperature, my batter, or I'm using the wrong darn quantities - who knows? All I can say is my time tested and trusted old method of deep-frying (in a pan with a lid), has never played me up anywhere near as much as this sleek up-grade is currently doing.
Which kind of brings me to beg the question of, if it ain't broke, why must I always have to go and fix it? Not the fat-frier you understand (which may very well be defective) but my old, perfectly sound, no-fuss, and far more reliable, place-on-the-stove-and-heat-up-chip-pan, the one which has trustfully served me for so long and so well?
I'll tell you why.
I'm a sucker for kitchen-appliance envy.
There, I've said it.
Take my meat-grinder/mincer debacle of only a few months back. I've been using my dear-departed mother's ancient old cast-iron, clamp to the table, hand-crank mincer for more years than I can even care to recall. It's simple, effective, in fine working order, and never, ever lets me down. So naturally, I have to go and seek out an up-grade to a full bell-and-whistles, super-de-luxe, electric meat grinding dream version, don't I?
Why, I hear you ask?
Because I'm never darn-well satisfied with what I've already got, that's why.
See, this one promised to make sausages (be still, my beating heart)! I saw it on E-bay, read the blurb, and wanted it with a passion. This, I felt sure, given some skins and a meat-cleaver, would provide simply hours of happy fun for my unusual and warped entertainment. I could hardly wait for it to arrive.
Admittedly, it wasn't the model I'd originally ordered, that had been mistakenly sent out to some other hapless house-wife in Italy. I, in turn, got hers, followed by a panic-stricken long-distance phone-call from Germany, explaining the mix-up.
Long story short, I agreed to keep what was sent, and to pay the additional costs. 'Cept soon as I did, the bloomin' thing conked out on me. Numerous emails and exchanged telephone conversations later, it was agreed we'd split the cost of postage so I could send the monster back to whence it came. But, despite the full refund, I still found myself over twenty pounds out of pocket. Mind you, I did get a lovely Christmas card, and his broken-English emails are still arriving fast and thick, though I do rather question if the photo's he claims of himself are actually honest..
Oh, and don't even talk to me about the latest Chef/Cook books in the shops. No matter how many I get, it's still my decades old "Delia's Complete Cookery Course" I end up turning to in moments of self-doubt, most of the others are lucky if they ever get called upon even once before they start to gather dust upon the shelf.
I have drawers and cupboards full of those all-purpose-slicers, corer's, peelers, zesters and dicers that are forever appearing on the telly. Non I actually ever use. I'm just an advertiser's dream.
I have THREE electric whizzy-rounders, as well as a double hand whisk. Two are virtually useless, it's the one my parents-in-law gave us for our first wedding anniversary that I still fall back on.
With some women it's shoes, for others it's handbags. Me? I can't pass a kitchen shop without being sucked in for hours.. I came out from one clutching a brand new jamming pail the other day, despite already having a perfectly serviceable (and barely used) one sitting at home. Sad, or what?
And knives - OMG, I loooove knives! I can't get enough, the bigger and sharper, the better. The shop assistant at my local store is beginning to eye me warily these days, I fear I might be getting a bit of a bad rep with her.
I wonder if there is any rehab available for this rather twisted addiction of mine?