Every time I watch something depressing on the news – which is relatively all the time these days – I head to the kitchen and by way of comfort I open the fridge door. I peek inside, then close the door. I open again, and close again. Then I open it again, get something out, such as the salad bowl, a yoghurt or a fruit, then put it back in again. I am sure it’s a nervous tic. But somehow, checking the contents of the fridge makes me feel that all is fine with the world, even if it so isn’t.
Therefore bear with me today, instead of talking to you about the heart-breaking, horrendous things happening to France, I will distract myself by cleaning the fridge and telling you all about it. I can think of no better way to keep your head when, to paraphrase my beloved Kipling, all about you are losing theirs.
But, first things first. There are two types of fridges. I suppose you could call them the Venus fridge and the Mars fridge, but I prefer to label them the Unisex fridge – which belongs to families, couples, friends living together – and the Man Fridge.
The Man Fridge inhabits men-only households. And it is not unlike a time machine: when you open it, it immediately transports you to the man cave of the prehistoric times. Think survival. You’ll find none of those fancy items you find in the Unisex Fridge: no kale, carrots, broccoli or parsley, no butter, hummus or organic yoghurt.
I don’t want to give the impression that a Man Fridge is the house of food items unrecognisably shrivelled and covered with mould lurking at the back. No, a Man Fridge just stocks only the straightforward food that in theory you can grab and stuff in your mouth there and then.
Therefore in the Man Fridge you find: wine and Flora margarine. Kunserva (in the tin). A jar of pesto. A jar of pesto with noci. A jar of pesto with artichokes. A jar of olives. A jar of ġardiniera. Old ice-cream containers with leftovers of a rice salad. Half the cheese counter of Smart supermarket. Opened tins of dog food. Milk. And half an onion. Interestingly, the Man Freezer is another story: it is packed with enough supplies of meat, salmon steaks, sausages and chicken to last a three-year siege.
In the Man Fridge you find old ice-cream containers with leftovers of a rice salad. Half the cheese counter of Smart supermarket. Opened tins of dog food. Milk. And half an onion
On the other hand, there is no space for old ice-cream containers in the Unisex Fridge. Or maybe I should rephrase that: there is no space for plastic containers in my fridge. Not even Tupperware makes the grade. I am slightly OCD-ish about food containers: they must be glass. My daughter in a school composition this year listed ‘collects glass containers’ when describing the hobbies of her mother. There is a collective roll of the eyes by everyone at home when I come from the shops bearing yet “another one!” (“But it’s a different size!” I whimper in reply).
The thing is, plastic containers absorb the smell of the food that you put in them first time round and I don’t think it ever goes. For example, my blue Tupperware container still has a whiff of aljotta from three years ago.
In fact, this brings me to a very important point: don’t you think that a lot can be said about the smell of other people’s fridge? Sometimes when you’re in a house, and the fridge is opened, you either don’t notice because the smell is neutral or you immediately go Eeww! is that a hint of old cabbages?
I then have to resist the urge to grab a pair of gloves, scan the said fridge for old stuff, throw it away and start scrubbing all shelves, bins, drawers and other removable parts.
While we’re at it, here’s a tip to keep bad odours at bay: spread baking soda in a tray and place in the bottom of the fridge, and voilà, within 24 hours all will be well on the nose front. Alternatively, you can slice an onion in half and leave it in the fridge overnight, because onions have odour-and-bacteria-absorbing properties. Of course, you need to make sure you throw the half onion away then, and not use it for the salad. Hmm, maybe I ought to say this again just in case the Significant Other and teenager in the house are reading this: of course you need to make sure you throw it away then, and not use it for the salad.
Meanwhile, I’ve come across some good news. It seems that LG has come up with a solution to my opening and closing the fridge door tic. This January they wowed the crowds at fairs with the ‘self-opening fridge’.
Apparently this senses when a human moves past it and cracks open its door. The door only cracks opens automatically when a human puts their foot in front of its low embedded sensor, meaning it can’t be opened by certain opportunistic passing dogs to check on their dog tins.
I am not sure it would be very popular though; it spoils the therapeutic effect of opening-closing-feeling-better and God knows, we need it.
In fact, let me go and check on that half onion.
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Twitter: @KrisChetcuti