Much of our flatware has seen the inside of the garbage disposal, which is why a number of our spoons can now double as grapefruit spoons. Some of the forks, also roughed up by the disposal, have become too dangerous to use and some of the knives have simply disappeared. I suspect they went on camping trips and did not return.
Being that our numbers have grown, and that there are frequently large groups here for meals, I was considering buying additional flatware. Flatware is not an exciting purchase. It ranks up there with dentistry—not something you enjoy paying for, but necessity requires it.
Surprised to see the exact same pattern of flatware I already own on sale, I bought a service for four, hoping to pad out the existing rag-tag collection at home.
When I opened up the new set, the pattern was the same, but all the pieces were bigger. It was Tour de France flatware, forks and spoons on performance-enhancing drugs. The new teaspoons looked like soup spoons and the soup spoons looked like serving spoons. The new salad forks were nearly the size of the old dinner forks and the new dinner forks were large enough to roast small game over an open fire.
I heard myself saying, “They didn’t look that big in the store.” It was like cutting your own Christmas tree, getting it home and finding it doesn’t fit in the family room. “It didn’t look that big in the forest.”
Everything is supersized these days. Not just flatware, but dishes as well.
Someone mentioned juice glasses the other day and every woman over 50 laughed. Once upon a time juice was served in small glasses (glasses that had previously held pimento cheese, been washed out and repurposed); today we drink juice in the 64-oz big gulp.
And then I look at my coffee cup. Who am I kidding? My over-sized coffee cup holds two cups of coffee. If I have two cups some mornings, I’ve really had four. And the husband wonders why I’m sometimes irritable?
A salad at one of my favorite delis recently came in a big bowl the shape and size of those cones that dogs wear after surgery. Each time I leaned in for a bite, I couldn’t help but wonder how my sutures were doing.
Food itself has grown larger these days as well. A typical bagel is three servings of bread. “I’ll have a half a pound of cream cheese to go with that, please.” If muffins grow any larger they’ll need to be rolled out on dollies.
All of this is not without consequence. There is speculation that in addition to having height charts, we may soon need to keep width charts.
Even the tables we eat at and the chairs we sit in are larger—the Jack and the Beanstalk line of furniture. Our houses have grown larger, too. Note the high vaulted ceilings. Lovely. But who breathes up there? Nobody. Which is why you have to buy a large fan to force down large masses of heated air to warm the people sitting in the large chairs at the large table eating large portions off large plates with large flatware.
Is this what they meant by living large?