Condementia
There is a hereditary disorder in my family, passed down the generations from great Auntie to Daughter to Mother to Wife, traveling through the female line and hidden from view except from the family of those affected. The symptoms are tragic. Attraction to condiments is no laughing matter. Whole family financial systems have been threatened by this serious problem.
It is known as Condimentia. There is no known cure. The afflicted are magnets for condiments. With every passing season, jars, tins and tubs of sweet and savory sauces, curds, pastes, spreads, confits, jams, jellies, preserves, conserves, dressings, marinades, rubs, syrups, blends, butters, sauces, dips, and extracts linger in the fridge.
We all have those condiments that are the go-to holy trinity. For some it's Hot Sauce, Mustard and Chutney and for others it's the trio Ketchup, Mustard and Relish. That would be no surprise in the trusty Fridgidaire, but my ice box is a masterpiece of food that is not quite a meal. Those bottles and jars, some of them unopened since being placed in the top shelf, sit waiting for notice, and gradually make their way to the far back of the shelf, stuck in a congealed puddle of something sticky. Stuck there are the Butterscotch sauce from my neighbor that is a dark black, so certainly not the Butterscotch of my recollection.... Move on back. And the Mint Jelly. Used one Easter, years ago for the lamb that none of the kids would eat. I got the mint jelly thinking that it would mask the Lamb taste that was "different", knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that the kids would no more fall for that than my telling them I was going to dye my hair blond (they laughed at that one). Back you go green jelly, next to the red currant jelly my Mother brought for some meat dish. (She died over 4 years ago, so this gives some perspective to the scope of the problem!)
There is the Clam Juice in its cute little long necked glass bottle that looks like a pale gray Ginger Ale, though God help me if I took a swig of that one. I haven't made a clam or fish chowder in over a year. The bottle was opened at some point. You see where I am going with this. The EPA would have cause to consider this small space as a Super Fund site!
There are oils and dressings that sit side by side with small pots of homemade jam. Some of them are pulled out for use- Horseradish for the annual Pot Roast (though annoyingly the Horseradish was MIA this year). There are some things that have no label, sit forlornly at the edges of the shelf. A jar of something pickled, the cap rusty and the contents empty except for the brine, takes up space next to a small container of olives, dried up and crusty. It's shameful, I know, but beyond me.
Part of the problem is that everyone gives us this stuff. Pickles, jams and jellies. Cordials, extracts and marinades from all our wonderful relations find there way into the top shelf. And every person, every loved one put thought into the purchase, love into the making of these sweet and savory treats. I had a Condiment party once where I asked people to come and help me eat up what was there. The thing is...they all brought more condiments. There was more at the end of the evening than there had ever been before.
So you see, as with my Mother before me, and her's before her, we have a crowded, sticky, smelly secret. The top shelf of the fridge. Condementia.
We all have those condiments that are the go-to holy trinity. For some it's Hot Sauce, Mustard and Chutney and for others it's the trio Ketchup, Mustard and Relish. That would be no surprise in the trusty Fridgidaire, but my ice box is a masterpiece of food that is not quite a meal. Those bottles and jars, some of them unopened since being placed in the top shelf, sit waiting for notice, and gradually make their way to the far back of the shelf, stuck in a congealed puddle of something sticky. Stuck there are the Butterscotch sauce from my neighbor that is a dark black, so certainly not the Butterscotch of my recollection.... Move on back. And the Mint Jelly. Used one Easter, years ago for the lamb that none of the kids would eat. I got the mint jelly thinking that it would mask the Lamb taste that was "different", knowing somewhere in the back of my mind that the kids would no more fall for that than my telling them I was going to dye my hair blond (they laughed at that one). Back you go green jelly, next to the red currant jelly my Mother brought for some meat dish. (She died over 4 years ago, so this gives some perspective to the scope of the problem!)
There is the Clam Juice in its cute little long necked glass bottle that looks like a pale gray Ginger Ale, though God help me if I took a swig of that one. I haven't made a clam or fish chowder in over a year. The bottle was opened at some point. You see where I am going with this. The EPA would have cause to consider this small space as a Super Fund site!
There are oils and dressings that sit side by side with small pots of homemade jam. Some of them are pulled out for use- Horseradish for the annual Pot Roast (though annoyingly the Horseradish was MIA this year). There are some things that have no label, sit forlornly at the edges of the shelf. A jar of something pickled, the cap rusty and the contents empty except for the brine, takes up space next to a small container of olives, dried up and crusty. It's shameful, I know, but beyond me.
Part of the problem is that everyone gives us this stuff. Pickles, jams and jellies. Cordials, extracts and marinades from all our wonderful relations find there way into the top shelf. And every person, every loved one put thought into the purchase, love into the making of these sweet and savory treats. I had a Condiment party once where I asked people to come and help me eat up what was there. The thing is...they all brought more condiments. There was more at the end of the evening than there had ever been before.
So you see, as with my Mother before me, and her's before her, we have a crowded, sticky, smelly secret. The top shelf of the fridge. Condementia.
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