One of the many things I love about our little cottage in the woods is the history of it. It’s an old Sears Craftsman Kit House. Back in the day, you could actually order a house piecemeal from the Sears Catalog. They’d ship all the pieces/parts to you, and you and your best friends would build it together. Kind of like Paint By Numbers, but with greater opportunity for major trauma.
There are many of these old cottages scattered around the country, and they are becoming more and more valuable for their history and downright coziness. They aren’t spacious like today’s houses. They were designed when economy in form and function was the rule of the day.
Being rather anal, I try to keep the inside style and decor in synthesis with this concept of economy with a simple kitchen: an old wooden bookcase as a shoe rack placed carefully where the small wood burning stove used to be, an old rickety farmhouse table and chairs, and no modern decorations or furniture. Everything possible is simple cottage retro.
Keeping this in mind, it just so happened that I needed juice glasses. I needed glasses that were smaller than my every day beverage containers, which are a thick recycled glass and way too large for juice. No one needs that much juice in one sitting. And it looks weird to fill big glasses 1/4 of the way up with juice.
But I’m cheap (and broke) and obviously couldn’t go out to buy a new set of juice glasses. That would be nearly as ridiculous as buying a trashcan solely for the purpose of putting cat food in it. (Oh…wait..)
So it occurred to me as I was slathering some of my favorite cheese spread on a Panini I was making for Varmint, that in the old days when these cottages were first built, people drank their juice out of old jelly jars and the like. It was not uncommon.
And it also occurred to me that this cheese spread jar was cute as hell, and just the right size…..
And since I have issues with impulse control, I immediately ran to the store, and snatched up 8 jars of the stuff, certain that we would save money in the long run.
I then force-fed my family Old English Cheese Spread in one way or another for the next couple of weeks:
There was cheese in their broccoli.
There was cheese in their sandwiches.
There was cheese in their scrambled eggs.
There was cheese on their garlic bread.
There was cheese on their cheese.
I mean, buddy, we were doin the cheese like nobody’s business!
And finally, we had a set of these:
Please note that I have thoughtfully inserted my hand in the picture for perspective and size. I also made sure that it was in the optimistic, affirming thumbs up position.
I did not, however, take any effort to make it look disturbingly pale and grotesque. That is just my natural freakish pallor. Free of Charge. Feel superior to me, if you haven’t already.
Which you should have for some time now.
But this story isn’t about me, it’s about my juice cups. Unless you want to talk about me. I can do that. I can do that all day. Just let me know.
Where was I?
So anyways, I proudly started serving the family their morning juice in these adorable, authentic, historic, cottage-like jars. I was so dagnab pleased with myself.
Varmint noticed the jar holding her juice, held it up, eyed it dubiously, and sent me a look that said, “You’ve finally taken a trip out of your gourd. How can we possibly be related?”
“What are these?” she asked impudently.
“Juice Cups.”
“They look like cheese jars.”
“No they don’t. They look like old-fashioned juice cups.”
“Mom, old-fashioned juice cups were jelly jars.”
“Pipe down and drink your cheese-juice, brat.”
We are, if nothing else, a patient, affirming, encouraging family.
Mama Boe 