My 82-year old mother’s refrigerator died recently, necessitating a visit to her home and a subsequent lecture on food storage.
“Maybe it’s time you threw out the mint jelly,” I said, holding up a half-full jar of a viscous green substance that, I believe, my father used to spoon heavily on lamb. Dad passed away in 2014.
“Where did you find that?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “My point is a new refrigerator should be accompanied by new food. You need a fresh start.”
I put heavy emphasis on “fresh” and chuckled internally, amused that I was uttering “fresh start” to an octogenarian.
Refrigerators, I believe, outrank cupboards and pantries when it comes to storing items indefinitely. Over time they become a mishmash of assorted sauces, seasonings, condiments and oils, all with clearly marked, and clearly ignored, expiration dates. After helping my mom rid her fridge of, basically, its entire contents as she prepared to welcome a new model, I returned home and opened the sparkling, side-by-side unit in my house. Time to take my own advice and conduct a complete purge. Why wait for the next power failure?
If your Labor Day weekend contains an hour or two of inactivity, I highly recommend you fill it by cleaning out your own refrigerator. In fact, make it an annual Labor Day event. You will thank me later.
Start with the crisper drawers. Oh, sure, on first glance you’ll observe healthy looking fruits and veggies, still of their proper color. Green lettuce and red strawberries sit side by side, awaiting entry into a salad.
But what’s this in the rear? A baby carrot or two that tumbled from its package back in, I don’t know, February? Have you ever really looked at a 7-month-old carrot? Gray, horizontal lines appear. The carrot’s texture softens and eventually becomes paste-like. If removing a carrot from your refrigerator requires a sponge or paper towel, you should have cleaned your refrigerator on Memorial Day weekend, not three months later.
While you’re at it, get rid of that lone pepper you purchased for salsa you never made. Whatever “kick” it was supposed to add to your Mexican appetizer is long gone by now. At present, the pepper looks like it sat in a Jacuzzi 15 minutes past the recommended time allotment.
Now it’s time to tackle those adjustable shelves full of bottles and jars of … what, exactly? The two most puzzling items I encountered during my last purge were a quarter jar of Walkerswood Traditional Jamaican Jerk Seasoning and a bottle of De Nigris 100 percent natural glaze. The jerk seasoning had a November 2015 expiration date, which made perfect sense considering I last visited Jamaica three years ago. And the glaze? The only thing I remember “glazing” was my garage floor. This mystery item was, I believe, designed to be poured on salads, not cement. I asked my wife if she purchased the glaze; and for what reason?
“I dunno. Some recipe maybe?” was her best retort.
True, many of these clandestine items are acquired when, in a moment of culinary creativity, one decides to cook an exotic dish best left to professional chefs. These recipes require items even the most seasoned grocer would have trouble locating in his own store. Will that oxtail soup really taste heavenly if it doesn’t contain dried orange peel? Why take the chance? Head to the nearest Whole Foods, and purchase a bag. Sure, the recipe calls for only the zest, not the pith. Just throw the pith on one of the shelves, where it will sit until the following Labor Day.
My newly cleaned fridge shelves presently contain ketchup, mustard and one jar of hot sauce. Three other jars, picked up on various road trips, were discarded. I know that, within the next year, the fridge will fill up with more mystery items but at least I’ll have room for them.
In the meantime, I’m planning to tackle our spice drawer sometime before Thanksgiving. It might be time to toss the sumac and the fennel powder.
