My mother had a mixer, sort of like this one, as best I can remember. Her's was... grey? I think. She considered it an essential. How else would she make cake?
She made cake for every birthday, at least. From a mix, by the time I came along, but a cake made at home. Her own frosting, a lovely fudge, until they came out with the pre-made tubs. I never much cared for cake, but I loved her frosting, but had to eat the cake first to get to the frosting.
She had a tabletop meat grinder, that clamped to the formica/aluminum kitchen table, so she could make meat pies, with potatoes. I liked those, as long as I had sufficient ketchup.
I do not have either gadget.
I have a rice cooker, been with us nearly two decades, and I would not do without.
I have a more solid version of my mother's manual mixer, which I am now using for mashing potatoes, and like for the odd time when something needs to be mixed.
The steamer, though, is used weekly, often more, and I've replaced damaged ones several times.
We own a blender and a toaster, but neither gets used enough to leave on the counter. The blender gets a space in the summer, when we make smoothies.
The roaster sits at the bottom of a drawer, gotten when I planned to have Thanksgiving here. I think I did use it once, maybe twice. But there is room in a house for this sort of thing. My mother had two, including a cast aluminum smaller one for every week.
We do have several pizza pans, that double as cookie sheets. I have wine glasses, that get used for sparkling juice on holidays. We don't have a corkscrew, which became apparent at the work party we held here. Haven't been able to find a cheap one to have on hand since. At least the glasses were used for actual wine, that time. We'll keep looking, no doubt find one at a yard sale.
Cheese graters, spatulas, a strainer that could use a back-up.
Never been one for a lot of specific, especially not electronic, gadgets, not of the kitchen sort anyway. Adaptable tools, pots, pans, hand held utensils. I like the silicone scrapers and flippers, even though - with iron pans, they aren't necessary to protect the surface. I avoid the coated pans, since I deal with sufficient toxic materials at work, I try to keep it clear of such stuff at home.
Good knives, in a second-hand knife block. D's carbonator.
The electric kettle so central to my comfort, it came to the House first. But, I have a back-up kettle, should the electricity go out. Light the gas fire, and make tea. My mother always had a stove-top kettle. Aunt Evelyn had an electric, and a back-up like me.
We are so well described by our tools. My mother cared about baking. I wish she'd have bought more fresh fruits, steamed frozen vegetables, with what she spent on sugar and flour, artificial flavorings, caramels and chocolate chips, for the everyday desserts, that she declined to eat - being on a 'diet.'
When I was doing the PTSD therapy, I'd finished one session with the realization that my parents really didn't love me, or want me. The next session, she brought this up, that I thought they didn't love me, as a sadness. NO, no, I told her. I was TOLD I was loved, so loved, but I didn't feel at all loved - without knowing how to describe that. I felt so much better seeing that I really wasn't loved. It was like being told "eat all you want" but there wasn't any food. As a kid, I felt like I was crazy, told I was ungrateful. If food is love, I was starving on sugar. To realize, those were just words, and what I sensed was real, that I didn't have to be grateful for being starved while told I could eat all that there wasn't.
To realize that what I knew, but had no words to describe, was accurate, that I was sane, perceptive even, was a huge comfort. I don't still
owe, is the point.
We rarely make dessert. If we get any at all, it's bought, made by people who's job it is to make sweets. The odd treat, once in a while, not just a way to fill in gaps. Something to savor, not a bribe to choke down mediocre food. I love freshly steamed green beans, peas, spinach. We have good salads, well seasoned meats, our own pizza. We nourish each other, and appreciate efforts.
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