I’ve been battling with writer’s block for a few days. This usually happens when my life is on overload and all circuits are busy. I have a lot of ideas, ailment but can’t quite seem to grab my own attention long enough to string two words together. So, recipe I’ll grease the wheel with something simple: my wooden spoons.
I love wooden spoons. I collect them. I hunt for them. At every kitchen or food store, order every farmer’s market, every arts and crafts show (yes, I’m the young woman in the midst of a senior citizens’ day out), I’m on the lookout for a new one.
I have an obscene number of spoons, some rough and gnarly, some rich and smooth. I love them all. (Have I mentioned that I love wooden spoons?!) The strange thing about my addiction is that I don’t actually use them when I cook. I just like to look at them. They sit on my countertop in a rustic ceramic holder, like flowers in a vase.
But I assure you: I don’t neglect them. I take them out, twirl them between my fingers, tap them against the palm of my hand as I flip through the recipe indexes in my brain. These spoons serve as a source of unparalleled inspiration. (And now, apparently, they’re also a cure for writer’s block.) Sometimes the simplest things are the most useful – in and out of the kitchen.