It’s a meme for Italian mothers: the wooden spoon. See one of these coming at you, and you better run! Seriously, though, the wooden spoon is emblematic of a cherished cooking instrument used by many, including the stereotypic Italian mother. When you find that perfect wooden spoon, you hold onto it. In my kitchen, it is used just about every day. Whether I’m stirring a soup, grits, sauce, sauteing vegetables … it’s in my hand making great food.

Many years ago, I had found the perfect wooden spoon. I don’t recall where, but I have relied on it for most of my adult life. The handle fits my hands perfectly and I can switch from right to left easily when endlessly stirring a pot of risotto. The length is just right: long enough to reach the bottom of my favorite pots but short enough to avoid snagging clothing or poking me in the face. (I have short arms so this is important!) Made of wood so it does not scratch cookware or conduct heat. The handle is thick and can stir the chunkiest potato salad without bending, let alone breaking, but is not too thick to be unwieldy. The size and depth of the spoon bowl is also perfect: ingredients do not slide back into the pot, nor do they congregate and stick. The weight is just right and there is a perfect balance between the handle and the bowl. A thing of beauty, really! There was a set of three spoons. One was used by children for God-knows-what and split in half; the surviving two spoons have eroded bowls and are well-seasoned, but they are my work-horses and my trusty cooking friends.

Those who cook understand. When you find the perfect spoon, you bond with it. Same goes for the perfect knife, cutting board or other cooking tool. Together, you create spectacular foods enjoyed by your friends and family. I imagine a carpenter feels the same about a trusty hammer. My coveted spoons are housed in a tall, ceramic container next to the stove. They enjoy the company of my favorite spatula, spider and an assortment of other wooden spoons used for more esoteric needs like stirring a seriously tall pot or those that were given as gifts and are rarely used. My trusty spoons greet me when I clean the counter, pull out the cutting board, knives and pots – always within reach. When one is dirty, I can grab the other. There is no jealousy between them; we are a team!

Prof. Pep had a terrible problem with an itchy patch on his back. It drove him mad and he finally went to the dermatologist to get some relief. It came in the form of a cream applied to that part of the back that is simply impossible to reach without help. While I was in Canada playing with our granddaughter and could not provide that help, Prof. Pep, being a resourceful guy, found the perfect tool to help him slather his back: one of the coveted spoons. To him, the spoon looked like it was just steps from being used as kindling in the fireplace. He is someone who understands quantum mechanics and complex chemical reactions in the atmosphere, but does not understand the bond a cook forms with her spoons, so this was not a malicious act. He was desperate, grabbed the old spoon and happily slathered the cream that brought instant relief, keeping it to assist with further applications. All of this while Pepper was out of the country and had no idea of the heinous crime being committed in her kitchen back in New Mexico!

When Pepper returned, Prof. Pep proudly explained how he was able to relieve the terrible itch that had plagued him for months. “Which spoon?” Pepper demanded. The tone of her voice made him realize that something was terribly wrong. He tentatively described one of the worn-out ones in the ceramic container next to the stove, explaining that he had spared the newer, nicer ones. Surely, an old, stained spoon would not be missed when there were plenty of nice ones right there next to it! I frantically pawed through the spoon collection and discovered that one of the coveted spoons was missing! Taking deep breaths, I accepted that my dear spoon had been reincarnated and was living a new life – still bringing comfort but in a different way. Then, I calmly explained to Prof. Pep the relationship I had formed with the spoon and that I had been unable to find any other spoon like it. His bewilderment suggested a lack of understanding and then guilt. Perhaps I was a bit harsh. (In all fairness, he did offer to return the spoon but wood is an absorbent material and it is probably not a good idea to use it for cooking any longer.) 

I now have only one coveted, trusty, wooden spoon in the bunch and I know its time is numbered. Whenever I am in a store with wooden spoons, I peruse the selection. If it looks promising, I’ll hold it to see if it will pass muster. Then, I return the spoon to its display, say a little prayer to the patron saint of wooden spoons, and continue the search. I know I will find it someday! I’ll buy ten spoons and hide them in the locked safe, leaving out only two at a time. In the meantime, my remaining trusty spoon continues its reign next to the stove, perfectly happy to congregate with the pretty spoons but also waiting for another trusty spoon to appear who will truly understand it.

Pepper, April 2024

EPILOGUE: My last remaining spoon finally retired to the great spoon-holder in the sky. While cooking last week, my husband brought our granddaughter to the stove to see what Nana was making. She was squirmy, so he reached into the spoon holder and pulled out the coveted spoon for her. She waved it about, tasted it, swatted the air before I realized which spoon she was holding! Now, grandchildren are perfect and never do wrong, so I had to find a way to extricate the spoon without alarming the child. I deftly pulled another spoon from the holder and gave it to her. Now she had two spoons! What fun! She had absolutely no intention of relinquishing the coveted spoon. It was not long before her attention waned. She dropped them to the floor and pointed at something else. Off she and her Pop went. When I picked up the spoons from the floor, I made the most startling discovery: the bowl of the coveted spoon was cracked and a section had simply broken off. My last favorite spoon was now a spork. And, since grandchildren are perfect and do no wrong, I quickly hid my disappointment and told her she is the most precious baby in the whole wide world. And, now the search for a replacement has begun in earnest!