"through the darkest blocks, over kitchen stoves, over Pyrex pots, my name shall be passed down to generations" Jay Z, Forever Young
Today my working day involved a lot of sitting about waiting to go into court, so I had the rare luxury of a bit of time for general pondering. I found myself reflecting on last night's blog post about my latest addition to my Pyrex collection and why it is that the hairs on my arms stand up on end, every time I imagine the beautiful milky translucency of the glassware I love.
I think maybe it might seem a little bit creepy that the vintage items I pick up in the local charity shops have probably got there following the house clearance of a deceased grandmother. For me, however, this is part of its charm- not that I have dead people's cookware, but the feeling that this very pot or casserole dish has fed generations of grateful ordinary folk for decades.
I love to imagine said grandmother as a newlywed, adorned in a floral pinny, lovingly preparing her husband's favourite shepherds pie in one of my baking dishes, eagerly awaiting his arrival home from work.
Or I imagine my gravy boat joining the same family for Sunday roast every week over 50 years, watching the family multiply through the generations and periodically adding more chairs round their dining table.
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| image credit: je m'appelle isabel |
Talk to anyone about patterned Pyrex cookware and it will always evoke a recollection of a beloved grandparent or fond childhood memory. Everyone, no matter their background or style of upbringing, has a story about Pyrex, whether it be their mother's roast potatoes or their naani's dhal. This makes it so accessible and wonderfully nostalgic.
So I say what's not to love- it's pretty, nostalgic, cheap, indestructible and goes lovingly hand in hand with the ever-so-important social rituals of sharing food with the people we love.
Bring on the Pyrex!
