S: 2/11/03

Work Diary, 2/11/03

This weekend found me organizing my spice rack, which is actually a
small pantry next to the refrigerator. My spices were in such disarray
that finding anything became an exercise in frustration, a frustration
I avoided by simply buying new spices. As I emptied the pantry, I found
four bottles of oregano, three bottles of vanilla, countless bottles of
vegetable oil, and enough paprika to sprinkle deviled eggs until
2008.

It didn't end there. The pantry had three shelves packed with various
Asian ingredients, food coloring, extracts, the spilled remains of a
bay leaf container, three sticky cans of non-stick cooking spray, and
half-used matchbooks from various gay bars around Denver. For almost
every other spice in the pantry, there were at least two - a veritable
Noah's Ark of the spice world, you might say.

I'm well aware that it's a pretty sad thing when a man of my age spends
his weekend organizing spices, but it was kind of thrilling -
initially, at least. First I went to one of those mega-home stores and
bought a chrome spice carousel. It came with its own bottles and,
unfortunately, more spices. On the other hand, many of my spices date
back to 1990. Some fresh stock couldn't hurt. I don't know what
tarragon's shelf life is - in fact, I don't remember what it's used for
- but I was relatively sure I wouldn't need three bottles of the stuff.
Into the trash it went.

Next I combined the half-full spice bottles: Cinnamon, mustard seed,
allspice, thyme, pepper, and two strange containers with Japanese
characters on their labels that smelled like amyl nitrate, only in
granular form. Mixing spices, even those of the same gender, is messy
at best and downright explosive at worst. Typically I just place my dog
on the kitchen counter to lick up spills, but she has a tendency to
sneeze when an open window kicks up dust bunnies. She might have
enjoyed the fajita seasoning but the black pepper would have meant a
long night of Beagle hacking, and I just couldn't face it.

I also combined all of the vegetable oils. One would think all
vegetable oils are created equal, but my mix is layered like a greasy
parfait. I don't use much vegetable oil; chances are I'll be using even
less in the future.

Some things I didn't marry, like the twin bottles of sesame oil and the
small, medium, and large soy sauces. This is because I've spent the
past decade trying to decide if you're required to refrigerate certain
food products. If one bottle of soy sauce is refrigerated, and the
other is left in a pantry for six months, will combining them result in
botulism and the untimely deaths of my dinner guests? With no autoclave
to counter such saucy alchemy, it was too much of a risk.

Once I'd managed to cull my spices and seasonings, I took a break.
Staring at my handiwork with smug satisfaction, I realized I could
attach a story to over half of the bottles, boxes, and bags in front of
me. There sat the Mexican vanilla, given to me by a friend after her
cruise. It's perfect for my aunt's Mexican Cocoa Cake recipe. Next to
that was a bottle of orange extract, which I'd use to flavor a
particularly bad batch of ice cream (I used too much, and it tasted
like baby aspirin). The omnipresent basil brought to mind countless
spaghetti dinner parties in college; the crushed red pepper reminded me
to call my Cajun-loving aunt, who cooks better than Paul Prudhomme but
has managed to stay slim. Even the cream of tartar - the only resident
of the spice rack that didn't have a mate - made me want to bake the
lemon meringue pie that people fight over.

Naturally, everything had to go back into the pantry. This took just a
few minutes, mostly because I'd planned ahead, but also because I was
eager to finish. Despite the fond memories elicited by a tin of ground
mustard, the whole process came too close to housework. I am fonder of
avoiding housework than ground mustard.

Still, I'd like to draw some parallel between organizing my spices and
my life in general, but in reality, neither is that amazing. Spice
racks are like a shoebox full of old letters: Someday you might have a
use for them, but in the meantime, they just gather dust.

It's nice to know they're around, though.