Grease Jar

A few weeks ago in Tennessee, while paying a visit to the same antique store where I found this glass rolling pin, I noticed a gorgeous Jadeite 'grease jar'. For $25, I passed it up. I confess I have a slight obsession with vintage Pyrex, but I'm no expert on Jadeite. I wasn't even sure if it was the real thing.

But I was still intrigued by the thought of a grease jar.

In all of my travels, I've never been one to collect souvenirs, thimbles or frankly anything else except memories and journal entries. However, recently, I noticed that the top of my fridge is actually lined with cookbooks from many of the places I've visited. Not all of them actually come from the country, of course. My former proficiency in Russian may have helped me to barter in the Ukrainian market daily, but I'm not fully convinced of my ability to accurately translate a pelemeni recipe from Cyrillic.

One afternoon I stared at those cookbooks and realized that I didn't even have one from Pennsylvania Dutch Country... the very place where I grew up.

I decided to remedy that when I saw a review in a magazine for Ian Knauer's cookbook, The Farm.

  

I ordered the book and proceeded to devour it. 

In the book, he describes 'master fat' -- and how people used to (and still do!) collect the fat drippings from any meat or bacon products they use. I often make Yorkshire Pudding with meat drippings, and I have been known to use the same oil to fry things like onion rings more than once, but collecting the drippings all together was a new concept to me. 

I love to recycle and reuse all kinds of things -- of course I was on board with this idea.  

So when I saw the 'grease jar' in Tennessee, I knew I had to add something similar to my kitchen.

Although I passed up the Jadeite, I did manage to find a drip can when I returned home. On an antique outing with a friend a few weeks ago, I found a gorgeous enamel pan with a lid (above), as well as this drip container. I squealed a little when I saw the price was only $2.50. 
 

I had to use it right away, so I actually went to the farm market the next day to purchase some bacon. Only a few minutes after I consumed said bacon, I was already straining the grease (I didn't even think to get a photo of the 'clean' jar before I put it right to use!)

I've already added more drippings, and even the Sailor seemed impressed when I showed him the jar and how quickly it was filling up. Not everything agrees though. A good friend emailed me and said the whole concept sounded 'gross'. 

Maybe it does to some people. Then again, maybe it's a little strange that I'm so excited about it? 

New Yarn Rules

A new year means new yarn rules. 

I'm still digging my way through the stash, but because I did so well with using up a lot of it in 2012, I'm allowing myself to buy a little yarn here and there for 2013. 

The catch? I have to have a purpose for it. 

 
When I first began knitting and crocheting, I would buy yarn haphazardly, whenever I saw something I liked on sale (hence the giant 'stash'). I had no plans for it -- and often by the time I figured out that I needed one more ball to actually make something, the yarn was no longer on sale -- and sometimes no longer even available.

Now, I purchase with purpose. I have to actually have an idea in mind before I buy the yarn. So when I saw this Lion Brand Wool Ease Thick and Quick on sale, I knew I could quickly whip up a hat and cowl for a friend's belated birthday gift. 

I can't remember the last time I bought super chunky yarn, so it was great fun to be able to finish both items in an evening! Using fun, vintage needles from a thrift store made the task even more memorable.

Of course I had to try them both on for size, to make sure they would fit my friend. The hat pattern can be found here, and the cowl pattern here on Ravelry. The link takes you to Lion Brand's website, where the pattern is free, once you register. I grabbed a free hard copy of the pattern at Michael's. 

I even had enough leftovers from the two balls to make myself a cowl (only just though... I had inches to spare by the end!)

I'm thinking I may also need a matching knit hat, so the next time I'm in town, I'll have to see if that yarn is still on sale.   

Family Kitchen Mergers

Growing up without much money, my family got creative with how we entertained ourselves. As a child, I would page through my mom's old, dog-eared wartime cookbook whenever she used it, especially for baking. I loved the photos -- they transported me to another era with pictures of dinner parties, jello molds and decorative cookies.  

When I was old enough to understand the significance of this cookbook in my mother's life, I told her it was the one thing that I wanted her to leave me when she died. The book had been my grandmother's, passed on to my mom at a young age. 

Several years ago, my mom decided that I shouldn't have to wait until her funeral to have my own copy. She found another one online and presented it to me as my very own -- yet still promising me her heirloom edition one day.

I have several old cookbooks from yesteryear, but this one is by far my favorite and I use it frequently. Recipes may have changed over the years, but some things are still classic -- like Yorkshire Pudding. Now I have my own notes and bookmarks falling out of my copy. 

Nowadays, I also appreciate the back section of the book with wartime recipes on a budget.

Around the same time my mom gave me the book, I had recently returned from the Sailor's hometown. During my stay there, I made the Sailor's family a pie. I searched high and lo for a rolling pin -- frustrated that I didn't know where anything was in the kitchen. (Read more about that here.)

My mother-in-law saw my frustration and dug into the cabinet. She handed me what appeared to be a glass bottle. 

I looked at the lid on one end and then I looked at her.

She explained that it was for keeping pastry cold -- you load the rolling pin with ice-cubes and then it keeps the dough chilled while you work with it. 

This was ingenious! I had never seen such a thing before. I somewhat joked with her that she could leave it to me in the future. Sometime later, I realized I needed to acquire my own rolling pin, before I continued to covet the one in the South African cupboard.

Last week, I found myself in the throes of antique hunting in Tennessee. I have spied a few glass rolling pins over the year, but they were always out of my price range. This time, on my second trip through the store, I found one for only $8. It's missing the lid, but I'm sure the Sailor can find something for me that fits. Besides, once the ice-cubes are in there, they're  not really going to 'fall out'.

This week, I realized that I now own two kitchen items that are symbolically related to my mom and mother-in-law -- and I still get to ask them both cooking advice. A perfect family history and merger. The only question remains is which recipe from that cookbook am I going to try out first with my new rolling pin?

Tickled Pink

I'm tickled pink to be one of many authors on the Pyrex Collective III blog. While I cannot boast of the collections that are posted there (nor would I have the same kind of space in my kitchen!) I do love to learn more about vintage items and to see other people's marvelous thrifty finds. 

And, of course, I love to write, so I'm excited to be included on the site. 

My first post about this fabulous Pink Daisy casserole from the 1950s can be found here.   

Orange Marmalade Cake

Poppy seeds remind me of Ukraine. I ate more than my fair share of poppy seed layered cake in that country. I wanted to bake something equivalent over here in America, so I purchased what seemed like a ton of poppy seeds and scoured my numerous books for a recipe. 

I never did find the Ukrainian one. But I had all of these poppy seeds, and I also had a neat vintage bundt pan waiting to be used, so instead I made an orange marmalade cake. I have made it several times this year for guests, and even people who don't like oranges or marmalade (or even poppy seeds) loved it.

It became my go-to dessert, much like my potato salad has become my go-to side dish to bring to a picnic. 

Today, I made it again for my knitting guild party. The first time I ever baked it, the power went out 10 minutes after I put it in the oven. I don't remember why it went out -- but I do remember the cake didn't turn out at all. I needed to start the whole thing over once the power came back on.

I used the giant bundt pan I found at a thrift store for only $2. The recipe called for a 'large' bundt pan... but the cake turned out super short. The recipe was from a South African magazine. Apparently their large isn't quite so big as this thing:

While the cake tasted great, it was somewhat short. The next time, I used a smaller bundt pan I also found during a thrifting hunt -- the cake came out the perfect size. 

Today, while making it again, I don't know whether I was more excited to use that small bundt pan, or the juicer I scored during a weekend antique hunt. 

They both made me happy. The whole process made me again thankful for my own little kitchen. The finished cake made me smile, too. The gals at the knitting club hardly made a dent, but I won't be complaining when I have a slice for breakfast. I'm sure my elderly neighbor will also be thrilled when I give him a piece or two, tomorrow.

I'm still on the hunt for the Ukrainian poppy seed cake recipe, though. This cake is great, but it's not quite the same.

Knit Lit

Along with vintage Pyrex, I enjoy hunting for old sewing and handiwork stuff. Although I haven't been able to pinpoint the exact reason why I'm drawn to vintage sewing and needlework tools and pattern books, I like to think that it helps me feel connected to the grandmothers and great-grandmothers of yesteryear who also pursued creativity in their daily life.  Their creativity may have been born more out of necessity than enjoyment, but I like to think that many of them still got pleasure out of creating something with their hands.

One thing that put me off knitting initially was simply the price of new needles. When I started looking into knitting more seriously, I realized that a person needed quite a LOT of needles in order to create all manner of garments with various types of yarn. Of course you can knit with one set of needles, but it seemed like every new pattern I wanted to make called for different sized needles and different thicknesses of yarn, but my budget instead erred on the thin size.

I knew I could save a small fortune by collecting used needles at thrift stores. Every time I saw a pair that weren't bent or that didn't have gunk stuck to them (it's true... sometimes you really have to pick through stuff -- and then really wash your hands afterwards), I would snatch them up for 50 cents or even as much as a dollar. 

Soon, I had quite a few needles in all sizes and colors. I thought they would make a fun photo project, especially when I realized I had all of the colors of the rainbow. 

These three were the best of the bunch: 

I submitted the far right photo into my camera club for a competition, and titled the entry 'Rainbow Bright'. The judges weren't impressed. They gave me low scores because the title had nothing to do with knitting. (I wanted people to guess what the photo was... I didn't want to give it away, but there you go.) 

So, when the camera club held the next competition, I took some new photos and submitted this one for the abstract theme:

 

 

I titled it 'Knit Lit' and it tied for second place. I guess this time my choice of title caught the judges attention quicker than my previous shot.

These photos were also some of my favorites of that shoot:

I still search for knitting needles at thrift stores, but these days I'm a little more picky. I have nearly every size I could possibly ever use, so unless they are a really unique set, I'm leaving them for the next knitter-on-a-budget.

Pyrex Mania

I have a small confession. Ever since the Sailor and I got our own little apartment, I have been somewhat obsessive about the kitchen. When we first got married, we didn't always have our own place to cook. For a while we lived with my in-laws, then we lived in Cape Town with another family while the Sailor finished his studies; later we lived with my family.  

Sharing a living space is one thing, sharing a kitchen is quite another. I didn't realize how stressful it was until one day I nearly burst into tears as I told the Sailor that I just wanted to pick out my own dumb tea towels.

The truth was, the tea towels were only the beginning. I was tired of using someone else's dishes, pots, pans, and cutlery -- even if that someone was within my family. I wanted my own. Even if I had my own stuff at that point, it's not the same having to share the space with someone else. 

(I do realize how selfish this sounds... and I also know how blessed I have been over the years considering how many people share kitchens all over the world, but hear me out nonetheless.)

Sunset from our flat near Cape Town

Before we got married, I had been living overseas. I never really had my own kitchen. Even in the few years in England where I lived on my own, post-university, I had a slew of guests come and go, and I was using dishes and the like that had been given to me. When I moved back to America, I felt like I had missed the last decade and everyone else moved forward by owning kitchen gadgets they hardly used (at least in my version of the story). I simply wanted my own knives and a few dishes. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I was just being practical. But I'll never forget trying to make hash browns from scratch on our honeymoon. They were a flop, but the Sailor simply reminded me that the cooking equipment at our bungalow was inferior. Right then and there I knew I married a man who understood how much a kitchen meant to me, even if I didn't know yet how to wield the equipment with which to cook.

We had some seriously stunning views in the places we lived -- especially in Cape Town, but I was also using the equivalent of an easy bake oven to make our meals. I was pretty proud of myself for learning how to make meatloaf on a hotplate until we got the little oven, and I was even prouder of myself for baking an entire loaf of bread in the thing -- even when said loaf rose precariously close to the top of the oven.

Moving into our own apartment, the Sailor had his say as to where some of the furniture went, but when it came to the kitchen, he told me he didn't mind what I did with it -- it was all mine. 

Because we were nomads for so long, most people gave us money for our wedding. The cash suited our lifestyle at the time, far more than toasters and blenders did. Besides, we never registered anywhere. I couldn't reconcile the idea that I had invited people from at least three continents to our wedding, and it would have seemed odd to me to have people bring breakable china on a plane to our small ceremony. In any case, I had nowhere to put plates or any material gift in whatever kitchen I was utilizing at the time.

When we finally got our own little space years later, I realized that in addition to furniture -- we needed not only dishes but an entire kitchen complement. I caved and bought my knives, my stainless steel pots and my cast iron pans new, but nearly everything else came from thrift stores. 

Suddenly I was drawn to older kitchen stuff. I remembered my mother-in-law had an old glass rolling pin -- the kind you could put ice into to keep dough cold as you rolled it out. Nobody here had ever heard of such a thing, so I took to scouting out antique shops in search of one. I still haven't found a glass one, but I have amassed a small collection of vintage Butterfly Gold Pyrex dishes along the way. 

At first it was just a small mixing bowl -- I thought it would go well with all of the sunflowers in my kitchen. Then I began to realize that this old Pyrex stuff was tough -- I figured if it had already survived 40 plus years, surely it could survive my kitchen? 

I began finding pieces bit by bit. 

My favorite ones by far were the refrigerator dishes. I liked the modern Pyrex glass dishes with the rubber lids (as opposed to their inferior plastic cousins) but there was something about these older ones that really caught my eye. 

I decided to hunt for the full set of the Butterfly Gold refrigerator dishes. I managed to nab the medium sized 'butter' dish and another smaller white one while weekend antiquing. 

This week, I found the large refrigerator dish. Sometimes, I just have a hunch that I should wander into a thrift store. That day, I went into one on my way to another antique store, in search of some vintage jadeite for a friend. Right as I was leaving, this little beauty stared at me through the glass: 

Can you hear the moment of triumph? The clerk most certainly heard me squeal.

While I don't usually get pieces that are damaged, I made an exception for this one which is only slightly scratched... but totally chip free. For the price, a few scratches were totally worth it. 

So there you have it. The whole fridge family. Happily, I paid less than half of what I've seen lately on eBay and Etsy for all of them. And before you wonder why I didn't just order them online from the start -- for me, it is more thrilling to hunt for them in person. 

In retrospect, if I had to do it all over again, I'm glad I shared so many kitchens and so much cooking equipment with other people. It helped me realize that I can cook anywhere -- in any space and with anything. And I still wouldn't have registered for dishes even if we had our own place back when we got married. (I doubt anyone has a registry for vintage Pyrex in any case.) Far more fun to build the collection this way, I think. The Sailor doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he's less overwhelmed when I build my kitchen collection piece by piece instead of all at once.  

And, thankfully, he no longer has to hear me spout off about tea towels. 

Weekend Antiques

Ever since I was a child, I have loved the hunt of going to thrift stores. By necessity, it's where we shopped, even through my teenage years. Although I sometimes yearned for a brand new pair of jeans, most of the time I was thrilled with the idea that I could get an entire garbage bag of used clothing for the same price. 

I loved flea markets too. We would travel to an old drive-in movie theater that converted to an outdoor flea market nearly every weekend. 

Auctions were even better -- but as a child I was often a little fearful of even scratching my nose, in case the caller thought I was bidding on something. Sometimes they had flea market finds for sale too. I liked those. No bidding involved -- no potential for nose-scratching-accidental-purchases. 

Once, I bought an old cigar box that had tiny seashells glued to the cover. The old man selling it looked at me quite seriously after my purchase and said, 'Now you take care of that box, honey...' 

I felt responsible for that box. This man had entrusted me with something that had been special to him -- now I was the keeper of the box. 

I had that box for years. It held trinkets, pens, anything small enough and special enough. I got a little nostalgic when I finally realized I no longer needed it and should just give it away. I thought about what little girl might buy it for a dollar at Goodwill and what she would decide to store in it and then I happily added it to the 'giveaway' pile. 

We never really went antique shopping though. Antiques to me symbolized people who had money... and we didn't. It would be years before I realized that while many antiques are worth a small fortune, there are plenty to be had within budget -- many of them can be found at those same flea markets and thrift stores, disguised under the label: 'junk'. 

Nowadays, I love to poke around antique malls and stores. This past weekend, a friend and I spent the entire day wandering through endless shelves of old stuff. 

There were old toys...

Dishes.... 

 

 Cutlery...

 

Cookie cutters...

And much more.

 

I walked away with a few vintage hankies, a sock darner, some refrigerator pyrex I had been on the hunt for (more on that later...) in addition to a few blisters. The Sailor had warned me that the boots I put on that morning probably weren't made for walking. He knew his prophecy to be true when I came home and crumpled into a heap on the sofa.

Sore feet aside, I also scored these fabulous 1940s dish-towels: 

Perfect for my often mismatched and rather kitsch kitchen.