The good life...

I haven't been writing a whole lot of late because the only interesting things that are happening are job interviews and, well, it seems unwise to start blogging about them.

So instead I am going to tell you that my kitchen smells of vinegar.

The reason it smells of vinegar is because Jeremy decided a few weeks ago that he would like to make some vinegar and, in true Jeremy fashion, he set about doing so with enthusiasm, determination, and little thought to what inconveniences might ensue. Consequently, there are now 3 or 4 tubs of wine / fruit juice / mushed up peaches slowly but surely doing their vinegarising thing in our kitchen cupboards.

(Is anyone else disturbed that the jelly-like creature that lurks in vinegar is called a 'mother'?)

Their vinegarising thing is having two notable effects:

1. It smells of vinegar. Well of course, I hear you say.... but it smells of vinegar even with the lid on and the cupboard door shut. Did your lovely store-bought balsamic ever do that to you?

2. It's attracting fruit flies. It seems they don't care if the 'fruit' is slowly fermenting and acidising and whatever else happens to make vinegar vinegar. Fruit is fruit to these flies and they can sniff it out a mile off. As a result, these tiny floaty bugs are busy floating all over my house and they also do not know the difference between vinegar and end-of-the-day-glass-of-wine, so all attempts to drink in peace are thwarted by the little buzzy buggers.There are also a suspicious number of black fly-like dots floating around in the vinegar. Jeremy seems unperturbed and just fishes them out from time to time.


I shouldn't be surprised. This is Jeremy - the boy who gets more excited about buying a pressure canner than most 'normal' men would get about their ball bouncing / kicking / throwing / batting team winning the world whatever.

We don't boil pasta in this family. We mix it, roll it, stretch it, slice it and then we get to boil it. Yoghurt is not bought from the store (or the shop), it's cooked overnight on a very low-heat oven, inevitably using up the last of my all essential coffee-in-the-morning milk. Beer is brewed, bread is baked and left-overs are not thrown away, they are fed to the worms which then fertilize the tomatoes which, if there are any left over, will be canned for the winter.

Don't get me wrong. I love this about him - even if at times I do foresee my own end as being brought on by an avalanche of kitchen equipment.

I could, however, do without the fly vinegar.