Ode to my refrigerator

You probably know this already, but I’m a huge fan of Eugenia Bone.

She wrote her canning book in the context of how you might use the things you put up (an obvious, yet oft overlooked aspect of canning and preserving). She’s practical in her approach and writes things that beginners and experienced alike may endeavor with success.

Alas, this is not an e-love letter.

This is more of a thank you note tacked onto the fridge.

She mentioned something at the end of this post about photographing your refrigerator contents. Well, I’m here to say: it’s habit forming, not to mention a bit energy inefficient. I allow my top-dollar, below-40-degree-F air out into my 300-degree kitchen. I don’t even enjoy using my camera, but I can’t stop.

It’s hard to say for sure the actual effects (if any) of daily exposure to things you or your friends made staring back at you from the fridge. It’s subjective, like art.

I’ve never had an easy time being speedy while the fridge door gapes. My mom used to chime in with “you’re not taking inventory, pick something!” whenever our indecisiveness directly affected her energy bill. (She was the earliest kind of eco-crusader.)

But now, it’s not indecisiveness at all; it’s surges of mental pats on the back, praise and plenty of awe. All the time I spent assembling a jalapeno pistou or the time my friend Autumn spent making basil simple syrup is right there, featured real-time every time I pop in that chilly little tavern of wonder. I get a peek at the past every morning when replacing the half and half after our coffee, or when grabbing a head of lettuce for dinner’s salad.

While one can really get used to this type of kitchen ecosystem, one thing is certain: you’ll never take it for granted. Having things you (or someone you know) made in kitchen circulation is the best kind of pride. 

Still life with fridge, the collector of accomplishment.