Kitchen Porn

There few things in this world, outside the bedroom, that give me a tingling below the belt. One is the smell of kerosene (it was a strange childhood) and the other is Kitchen Porn.

For those of you that have the same addiction it needs no explanation; you can now pop off and butter your crumpets or muffins, depending on if you are gas or electric. Those of you who have led a sheltered life of kitchenettes and service station pasties read on if you think you are strong enough to resist the allure.

I don’t mean that I like to watch a threesome on the AGA nor do I lie back close my eyes and think of Vicki Michelle in a flying helmet with a stick of wet celery. I have considered asking the Mrs to coo ‘ooooooh René’ softly in a faux French accent , I have a feeling that it will not go down very well.

My earliest Kitchen Porn memory was in Switzerland at the age of 10, I did not realise back then what a seminal moment it was and how serious it would get. It was only a fondue set, something perfectly normal a seemingly normal Swiss kitchen mainstay. It was the shiny copper facade, the work hardened hammered surface, the wooden handle, the elegant artistry of the cast iron base, but most of all the way that the intense blue methylated flame lapped over the softly curved base of the pan. I could not understand how I had not have seen it before the elegance, the magic and the workmanship all there for me to touch.  Just the thought of it makes me reach for my glass of water and take quickly needed soothing sips between my short and shallow breaths.

I have lost hours, nay, days surfing for utensils on the web. Shiny cookie cutters, pasta machine electric attachments, insulated glasses have all made their way in to the house in recent months. I have drawers full of strangely shaped devices that do weird and wonderful things to tubers and alliums. The appliance section of the kitchen is my domain and the Mrs stays away. Focus does shift from one new lovely utensil to another, that is the fickle in me.

It does not stop at cooking utensils, anything that is food related and sexy turns me on.

I have shelves and boxes full of cookbooks, I have a storage facility locker that is 1/4 full of my cookbooks, I dare not take them out for fear of slipping back to a place I have tried to escape from one too many times.

It always starts out as a simple quick flick, you must know what I mean, you go to the bookshelf to look up a measurement or an ingredient that you had forgotten for a basic recipe. The thing is, your ‘go to’ book is sat next to an altogether more warmth making, saliva inducing and downright sexy book. The broad coloured spine teases you to take it off the shelf, the weighty tome’s shiny yet matte cover shows a pictures of a market stall in long forgotten town or an extreme close-up of the fleshy part of your favourite fruit. You sit and you open the book, for the first time, that you picked up a few weeks ago. You remember, it caught your eye across the room, it was sitting proud at the front of the shelf in the store, glistening in the afternoon light that bathed it. You had to have it you walked over and added it to the pile in you already aching arms, put your head down and walked to the till, you had to leave now before any one spotted you. The pages are crisp and full of enticing pictures, you hardly know where to start, you bury your nose in the fold of the pages, inhaling deeply trying to savour that new paper smell and imagining the recipes vapours drifting of the page into your lungs.

It is hard trying to stop myself from spending all my time indulging my Kitchen Porn habit. I have been reasonably succesful in the past few years but just writing this has brought it all to the surface again. I must go and lie down and read The Downing Street Years : an Autobiography of  Margaret Thatcher in order quell the tension.

Leave a comment

Filed under Kitchen Appliances, Rants, Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s