I bought a frying pan

Every now and then I try to honestly consider what would improve my life, and then I try to change it. This is how I came to buy a new frying pan. 

I would like to explain that the things that improve your life are only sometimes enormous. They only occasionally rock a boat to tipping. Most of the time, things that change your life are a pebble in the water, not a meteor to dislodge a world. 

We have an induction stove, which I only sort of understand. I understood it to believe that I wouldn’t be able to burn myself on it, because I am not made of metal, but then I burnt myself on it. Most of the time it seems to mean that is noisier than a regular stove (it hums as it heats, then silences itself as it cools, then hums again to make up the difference, ad infinitum, as my onions soften), and doesn’t get quite hot enough. I’m sure there is a scale in the quality of induction surfaces you can buy, and that ours is somewhere near the bottom. At any rate, it is satisfactory to clean: just one smooth black surface. It is also easy to scratch, so it is no longer quite a smooth black surface, it wears our short history of carelessness. 

When we moved into our house, we owned almost nothing except books and shoes. Stocking a kitchen from scratch after you have just obtained your first mortgage is no easy task, and so our drawers and cupboards were filled with items of the barest utility. Now, two years later, they are beginning to fail, and so I am beginning to replace them. 

The new frying pan gets hot quickly and holds its heat evenly. My onions do not blacken. It is wide, and so there is room enough to cook things which tell me, gravely, not to “crowd the pan”. My pan is uncrowded, my mushrooms merely acquaintances. 

It cleans nicely, too. It isn’t scratched. Nothing sticks. There is no foreign, omnipresent black surface smear, which won’t be removed by dish soap but ruins all my tea towels. Oh yeah, I care about tea towels now. 

People react to stress and pressure in different ways. Retail therapy is no great shock as a coping mechanism. I wouldn’t have thought I would put all my mental health eggs in the basket of good quality homewares, but then it is difficult to predict how you will react to the unpredictable. My reactions so far have been varied: learning to bake bread, sleeping for 12 hours at a time, becoming obsessed with my nostrils, refusing to contact my family members.

There are a few other things that would improve my life, like the ability to see my family, or my friends, or my colleagues; or if it was light later that 4:30pm, but attempting to impose control over any of that is futile. So I also bought a bread bin. 

This weekend the snow fell. Kids collected in the street and threw snowballs at their parents. There are still sad, stiff snowmen standing to attention against the brick walls of front yards. The snow was a distraction from repetition, and therefore a cause for celebration. I understand why people used to personify the weather as gods. The next few days, maybe weeks, are all rain from sunrise to sundown, and so I bought a muffin tray.

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