You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'utensils' category.
Though you sit on my head like a wonky walnut shell, tilted always at an unfashionably rakish angle, though you wobble, bobble, and bang against the granite, when I pull myself up beneath a roof, I have not given you, dear helmet, the credit you deserve.
Today, helmet, we became more than just friends. Today you showed me just what you are made of: very hard plastic, and for that I am forever in your debt. Yes, it’s true that yesterday I likened you to wearing a greenhouse on my head for all the condensation (okay, it was sweat) dripping down my brow. But I take it all back, helmet! Sweat in my eyes is more than a fair trade for a fully-intact skull. Yes, I have clipped you to my harness, carelessly banging your once-bright surface along the rocks and tree trunks of many a descent trail. And, I’m ashamed to admit, I didn’t even invite you to Greece for a holiday. It was wrong of me, helmet. To so carelessly scratch your powder-blue exterior. To curse your poorly-designed chin strap. To doubt your ability to remain on my head if I’d been moving any direction but up.
Okay, enough with the ode. I think the helmet gets the point. I originally intended to write in the style of one of my favorite Romantic poets, Mr. John Keats. Keats has a real way with the ode. Take his “Ode to Autumn” for example, in which he exalts the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!/ Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun;” How charming! Autumn is fruitful–it is harvest season–but not aggressively so, like summer’s relentless abundance, and Keats is attentive enough to note this. And how inviting, as if the mature sun is bringing everyone to its bosom, rather like my grandmother at Thanksgiving. Perhaps I could write to my helmet:
Dome of plastic and July afternoons!
Your snug-fitting strap caresses my chin;
Enveloping my head, a full blue moon
lights midday sky and lets no danger in.
But iambic pentameter is perhaps too formal for my helmet. Mainly, I want it to know that even though I sometimes act as if it is a burden, I am grateful for its companionship, and, today, it’s protection. It was not unlike that scene in The Bodyguard where Kevin Costner’s character jumps between a bullet and his client/true love played by (I know I don’t have to tell you this) Whitney Houston back when she was very glamourous and capable of cranking out a killer movie soundtrack all on her own. But it wasn’t a bullet; it was a rock, a rather large rock that was quickly approaching my head as it–my head–made its way to the ground. And you’ll be happy to know that my helmet has survived to tell about it. Though it isn’t talking much right now. It’s had a long day.
When we were nine or ten, my friend Ashley and I would spend sleepovers staying up late enough to watch infomercials. There was something about that do-it-all kitchen chopper, or sweep-it-all rubber broom, or liquify-it-all juicer that called to us, a certain magic in the grand scope of applications for a single tool. I suppose most of us find gratification in the perfect execution tasks, and this is what the infomercial offered in seemingly endless variations. After her parents had gone to bed, we basked in the sea of consumer desire and the glow of the television screen. Of course we were too young to buy anything, but the siren call of “if you phone in the next ten minutes we’ll double your order” helped us imagine the bounty of appliances we’d someday plug into our own kitchen outlets.
As I’ve gotten older, my attitude toward consumption has changed. I’ve developed a critical eye for advertisements and am less inclined to believe that anything can really do it all. For this reason, it is the policy of this blog not to endorse commercial products. (Actually, this blog had no policies until I just typed that–but it feels pleasantly official to have one.) However, every now and then a product comes along that makes you wonder how you lived your daily life up to this point without it. Surely you’d agree that in such cases, policies should be flexible. So I come to you today with a special post dedicated to: The J-Strap.
Perhaps you’ve heard of The Y-Strap (if not I highly recommend the first ten seconds of this video). Inspired by the Y-Strap, Justin—the J-Strap head designer, company president and product user—created an adjustable camera wrist strap from traditional climbing webbing. I was lucky enough to get a peek into the J-Strap construction process at the design studio:
Maybe you’re thinking that the J-Strap HQ looks an awful lot like my living room. Well, okay, you’re right. This product is maufactured in my very own home by my favorite photographer. But just in case you think I may not be entirely objective in my endorsement, I submit to you the e-mail I received on Tuesday, the day after my J-Strap fitting:
Dear Valued Member,We are writing to remind you that to best enjoy your new J-Strap ©, you should have your camera and J-Strap © with you everywhere you go! This might sound like a big bother at first, but you’ll soon get used to lugging around that dSLR that has a renewed sense of heft — all thanks to the J-Strap ©! Shooting with the J-Strap © renews the initial satisfaction you got when first using your camera. Try it out today!
We hope you love your J-Strap © as much as we do. Each one is crafted on an individual basis, with complimentary fitting to you, the end user. To show us your appreciation, please feel free to make a tax-deductible donation in the form of cash, in-kind contributions, or biscuits to the innovative J-Strap © creator, Justin “J-Strap ©” Barnes.Thanks again for your enthusiastic support of our evolving product.
Happy shooting!
- The J-Strap © Fanclub admins
When this arrived in my inbox, I tried so hard to stifle my giggles that both my officemate and the student he was meeting with looked up to see if I was going to choke on my apple. What’s not to love about such personalized service? What’s not to love about a guy who substitutes his product title for his middle name? And the earnest overuse of exclamation marks! So, if you buy only one camera product this year, make it the J-Strap–and if you order in the next ten minutes, I’ll ask the J-Strap creator if he’ll consider doubling your order.* Hurry while supplies last!
*if you receive two J-Straps, you may have to pay for both of them.
I’d like to take a moment to consider this knife/tool, procured last week from the Mountain Equipment Co-op, an object which, given a little context, I think you’ll find worthy of some praise. ”Revolutionized” is a strong word, but this guy has undoubtedly blown the screen door open to world of culinary camping possibilities. As you can see, it has the necessities for both home and travel: flat and philips screwdrivers, wirecutter, blade, pliers, but, most importantly to my culinary camping needs–corkscrew and bottle/can-opener.
The story starts with my friend Jeff, who is what you might euphemistically call a food enthusiast. I say “euphemistic” not because he’s chubby (he’s quite fit, and the word “gourmand” for some reason connotes corpulence in my mind) but because it’s kind of an understatement. I genuinely don’t know anyone else who takes such intense pleasure in the mere possibility of cooking and the anticipation of eating. No one. And I happen to be friends with many people who love food passionately. But Jeff’s passion is what he would call “pro-table” passion. Jeff eats at the pro table, and, thanks to my new tool, a conveniently misplaced hibachi, and some gustatorially-inclined co-campers, I’m pulling up a chair.
Take last weekend for example; not to brag (but to brag), with a camp stove and a hibachi we made:
grilled salmon with lemon butter and sweet onion
couscous with pine nuts
cherry tomato and bocconcini salad
blanched green beans
grilled portobello mushrooms with butter
and of course, thanks to one of the best Christmas gifts ever (xo,sis), topped it all with fresh ground black pepper.
(camp tool, camp pepper grinder, camp folding plastic bowl; sadly absent: camp spork, which went missing that legendary evening, and will, hopefully, be replaced shortly, at which point perhaps it shall receive its own blog entry as it truly is a spork for our times)
That’s what we ate on a Saturday night, at the campsite picnic tables, under a bright half-moon, surrounded by a bunch of smelly climbers, washing it all down with a 22oz of Tusker. Summer, if you’re reading, thank you for making up for August with September. I noticed. (by the way, have you seen a better beer label?)
Justin says I always think that whatever I buy is the greatest possible version of that product. In reviewing this post, I see that perhaps this is true. The thing is, I have chronic spending anxiety, and as a result do way, way too much research before actually purchasing something. And when I get the right thing, just what I want so that it meets my needs perfectly, I am so, so pleased. Is that so wrong?
The next time you find yourself in your local outdoor store, do yourself a favor and take a quick peruse of the cooking aisle. I think you’ll find it all pleasantly feather-light and packable, not to mention designed to afford the greatest utility in the most efficient package. At one point, I even considered outfitting our whole kitchen with camping utensils, as the minimalist aesthetic goes so well with our small apartment. I love camp cookery that much!
I’m jealous of my last-week-self even as I’m typing this, as I know that I haven’t been to the grocery store in a few days and whatever I scrounge up for dinner will appear woefully inadequate, despite a proper kitchen equipped with full-sized utensils and appliances.
The lesson here, folks, is simply this: good food knows no physical bounds. If you’re not eating at the pro-table, you’ve only got yourself to blame.
cut to gratuitous camping shot:
(that’s my tent!)
