I am a self confessed miser. That person who requires justification (over and over again according to anyone who knows me) over any purchase I make. Unless of course its a purchase involving good food or travel, in which case there’s an exception to the rule.
Which perhaps explains why I have never been one for collecting unnecessary gadgets in my kitchen. Yes, yes, I am the smug owner of both a Vitamix and Magimix, and yes, I do happily use these most days. They are both worth their weight in gold, particularly for someone who repeatedly spews out fresh batches of pesto, salsa verde, granola and less than fancy nut sauces to feed my ever hungry family. I have, in my less trusting days, been through my fair share of cheap food processors where the barely-up-to-it 70w motor ended up dying on me, after I’d painfully spent ten minutes cajoling the semi blunt blades to chop away at something as simple as a bunch of light weight basil. So my decision to invest in expensive kitchenware some five years later, once I really knew it was worth the cash injection, was a no brainer. I can now wholly confirm that some machines are worth the investment.
A garlic press however, you won’t find me within a square mile of one.
Designed by Swiss inventor Karl Zysset in 1948, the intended function of the single purpose garlic press is to crush and spew out garlic cloves, releasing the tender flesh and milky juices in to a wonderfully aromatic puree quickly and easily. Presumably Zysset was a mass garlic eater who simply couldn’t keep up with crushing and chopping his own demand. Sleek and beautiful as the gadget is, it’s only use is, you guessed it, to crush garlic cloves and not always particularly well at that. Like a drunk middle-aged man slumped in the depths of a dust ridden medieval-style pub, it takes some poking and prodding to get it moving. It’s those last stubborn now misshapen, often drier pieces that struggle to move through those tiny, awkward holes. And when you think you’re done moving all the broken pieces of garlic through, you find more, only to find they are now too tiny to crush. It would be sacrilege to waste them, so rather than throwing those precious morsels away, you pick up a knife and finely chop the remainder. Which begs the question, why not just use a knife in the first place? Or bash away at it using a pestle and mortar like any good chef channeling their inner Fred Flintstone would.
In my early food obsession days, I invested in the aforementioned mortar and pestle. As you’d expect, it took me many an anguished hours to pick the right one. It had to be heavy, not light weight, stone not marble. I finally walked away with one that I felt would be a good compromise, not too pricey, ticked all the functional and aesthetic boxes, however it’s diameter measured a measly 5cm. Just about big enough to crush whole spices in and even then they spill over and fly up in my face threatening to take my eye out. This, I soon realised was not the real deal.
Fast forward some 20 years and there I am sat in my lounge watching the plant based master that is Chef Kirk Haworth smash his 3rd dish in a row on The Great British Menu. If you didn't see it, what set Kirk apart from the rest in his heat - and achieved him no less than 3 unprecedented scores of 10/10 - was that all his dishes were entirely made of plants, meaning he needed to showcase lots of clever, well balanced flavours to replace the expected meat or fish in his dish. It really is a must watch. But what did he use to help him achieve this? A full sized mortar and pestle of course.
This consolidated what I have known for a long time, it was time to invest.
I needed a real adult sized pestle and mortar, one that allows room for the entire contents of a recipe, without the need to tirelessly bash decant, bash decant, before bringing all together in a mixing bowl. I’ll let you in on a secret. I hinted. A lot (saves me on procrastination time). Sunday comes, Mothers Day and I am handed an unexpected box shaped present from across the table. Everyone glared at me with anticipation, excited to see my expression when I open it. Can you guess what was inside? Uh huh. Only THE most beautiful, silky smooth porcelain Milton Brook Pestle and Mortar, measuring a whopping 15cm (the exact same one I fell in love with some 20 years ago but couldn’t justify buying myself).
Taking it out of from its cardboard box I see it’s sheer, rustic beauty. So smooth and so incredibly white. Part of me didn’t want to break it in, the other part just knew this needed future stories etched within. This stone deserved aging. It needed herbs, spices and garlic cloves engrained within to tell mine. No garlic press required.
So one peanut curry and a generous serving of chermoula later, our first story together had been written.
Yes, some kitchen gadgets really are worth their weight in gold. The humble pestle and mortar is officially one of them.
Love this Suzanne, I'm totally with you on garlic crushers. It's a heavy can or a microplane all the way!
I hate using a garlic crusher, it’s right down there with a microwave for me! Much to my children’s disgust….