I was looking for a large, solid, crockery-style bowl in which I imagined mixing copious batches of Mama-ish delights. You know, cookies, cakes and brownies. All the good things in life.
I wanted something cutesy, maybe with a pretty little pattern on it. I imagined myself poised over it, apron firmly tied around my waist (should I mention that I don’t actually own an apron?) and wooden spoon in hand, spreading the love. Or the icing, at least.
Turns out, ‘cutesy’ was oh so last season daahling. (Yes, actual words from a kitchenware salesperson today!)
I looked everywhere. The best offerings I found weren’t half as big as I wanted, and the worst was a mustard/baby poop-coloured monstrosity the likes of which would have graced my grandmother’s kitchen. Which is okay, if you’ve inherited such an item and have the memories of Grandma’s apple crumble to back it up. When you are forced to buy poop-coloured kitchenware...well, its just sad.
In the end I found a perfectly plain crockery salad bowl. It didn’t look cute at all. It looked bland. It looked, well, boring. And it was made to house salad. I’ve never made a salad that big in my life. I drove home lamenting the pseudo-loss of my old fashioned (but trendily modern at the same time) pastel-coloured, grooves-in-the-sides piece of culinary beauty. You know the ones I'm talking about.
But then when I got home I looked at plain, simple ol’ mixing bowl sitting on the benchtop. And thought to myself, wow, what a blank canvas. How many sticky little fingers are going to slide along the bottom of that doughed-up bowl and make a dash to a waiting mouth before Mama sees them? How many batches of Fudge Brownies are going to cycle from bowl to oven? What about the meatballs and pasta salads? Or my mother-in-law’s Anzac Biscuits?
Because a mixing bowl isn't just a bowl...it's a legacy.
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