Things That Are Good

I’ve been working on two blog posts for the past couple months. I can’t believe how long they’re taking! I comfort myself as I reflect that the time they take is a price I gladly pay to dig deeper than I have before on this blog. Many of the posts I’ve shared have been “the examined life disguised as food writing,” as one reader of my blog noted. (Thanks, mom!)

The posts I’ve been writing are my way of living that out more fully. It’s tough! It’s exciting! Things are about to get more reflective, more personal, and, hopefully, funnier. Not to overhype the upcoming posts, but I think they are like caramelized onions: they just can’t be rushed! Their depth of flavor comes with time, and there’s no way around that.

But there are bright flavors that don’t need time, their intensity tied not to depth but to freshness. While I work on caramelizing my experience into writing, here’s the beginning of a list of kitchen things I love:

Trader Joe’s Quartered Marinated Artichokes

Marinated artichokes are wonderful. The antipasto bars in supermarkets that have them are expensive. Cans are gross—what’s that liquid?—and I want to be able to close them again.

This is the answer. In one beautiful, resealable jar, you get tender, bright, and deliciously seasoned artichokes, plus zippy brine, a great ingredient in itself. Chop ‘em up and plop on sourdough, maybe with tuna salad? Sauté with leeks and white beans, squeeze some lemon and stir into pasta. They’ll be waiting in their jar, ready to go when you need them.

Lundberg Sushi Rice

I’ve become a rice monogamist. Basmati and jasmine have their place, but it's not in my kitchen anymore. I’m not making a statement about the relative merits of different kinds of rice, just about me and this rice. Lundberg’s sushi rice, which comes in a pretty blue bag—it’s resealable!—is not too glutinous and not too not-glutinous. I toss it in my instant pot with an equal part of water and it comes out perfect every time. I meditate frequently on why I find something with so little flavor so delicious. I’m reminded of Talking Heads’ “Heaven,” in which David Byrne sings, “It’s hard to imagine that nothing at all/Could be so exciting, could be so much fun.”

Sourdough Starter

This is a miracle.

I’m three years late on the craze, but sourdough has recently become a big part of my life. I got some starter a few months ago and I’ve been baking loaves ever since. I never stop marveling as this inert glop bubbles to life after a feeding, then brings my dough to life.

The glop is actually a community, which is what sourdough scientists—who exist!—call it, of yeast and bacteria, eating together and managing their environment. I’ve given starter to enough of my friends now that I feel like I’ve been colonized: is the “Community” using me to propagate, having first infected me with the insatiable craving for the tang?

People love and hold their starter dear, and of course at the same time, they are joyful about giving it away. After all, It is a renewable resource, ever bountiful. People are at their best when they deal with starter. Few things in life are like starter in this respect. But what if more of them were? I like to imagine a kinder, brighter world in which giving to you never costs me. What if we gave everything away like we give away starter?

OXO POP Containers

I have very strong feelings about kitchen storage containers. I guess that’s a sign I’m an adult, right? Since I started baking, I’ve hoisted unwieldy, leaky, unsealable bags of sugar and flour and awkwardly scooped from them. I knew the answer was to get containers, but it just seemed like an unreasonable indulgence. Then I started baking sourdough and decided to bite the bullet.

I am so glad I did. These are the perfect containers. I have one for all purpose flour, one for bread flour, and one for sugar. Each is just the right size. The lids seal securely but you don’t have to pry them off. They release easily with the extremely satisfying push of a button. Sometimes I click and reclick the button just for the tactile and auditory pleasure of it.

I recommend them to you if the joy of an object perfectly suited to its purpose resonates with you. But I think the depth of love I have for them comes from what they mean to me more personally: deciding not to put off buying the containers any longer was at once comforting and liberating. Buying them was an investment in cultivating the sense of flow I have in the kitchen and a message to myself of how much I value that flow. Thanks me!

So now I’m wondering: what are your favorite kitchen things? what do they mean to you? Let me know!