The Masher’s Last Stand

By Ann Chiappetta

I learned to cook prior to food preparation machines and commercial blenders

We used whisks, hand-crank mixers and potato mashers.  I stood on the Romper Room emblazoned stool beside Mom until my little arms tired. I whipped cream, eggs, and sifted flour. I was practicing to be a Suzie Homemaker, don’t you know.

 

After my parents divorced and we moved into an apartment, the budding skills became necessity. At nine I learned to scramble eggs, boil water for macaroni, and help make

meatloaf and meatballs.  The spoon with the little holes and the potato masher made the move with us.

I estimate the utensils are over fifty years old, the spoon is solid stainless riveted to hardwood handle grips. The masher is also riveted and sturdy, not even a bit of rust.

 

Dad’s carpenter’s   measuring stick   given to him by his father

was the final tool

Laid in a reverent place among elderly scrapers, hammers and planers.

Bobby, said a friend, your making mistakes, get rid of that thing.

 

The measuring tape wasn’t as fun to play with

And pinched my tender fingers more than once

Dad would release the stop and we listened to it retract as if by magic and

He would chuckle and say something about

The wonders of modern technology

Then whip out the stubby pencil from behind an ear, mark the wood

clip it back to his waist and return to work with the hand saw.

 

I pretended the curled papery shavings  from planing the wood

that fell like

Dogwood petals onto the shop floor were

Secret messages from fairies or a mouse

 

I put them to my nose and inhaled the fragrances

Cedar or pine was the best

 

Pop gardened and gave me the first taste of fresh mint

Strawberries warmed and sweetened by the sun

Pickled cucumbers in jars so big a child’s hands could not

carry or open them

My little fingers squeezed

Lupini beans from their casings as directed

By the little Italian lady visiting

From next-door

and my lips tingled from

a bit of afternoon antipasto

and my confidence was tempered

by losing a few hands of Casino

 

I tried buying lupini beans and couldn’t find them

Though I remember the card game rules and pulpy fragrant

Refinements Of the shop

And how attached I am to a few outdated implements

The telltale products of my youth.