It’s not that I’m blind to the seductive wink of kitchen equipment.
As others desire the scarlet flash of Louboutin soles or the buttery kiss of a Balenciaga tote – I’m susceptible to culinary gadgets and utensils.
Show me a cool square of mottled marble on which to roll out pastry and I’m gone.
You could see this for yourself if you managed to jemmy open my large kitchen drawer – one of several slotted pasta scoops is likely to have wedged it firmly shut.
Inside is an archaeological assay of my kitchen past; a timeline of bits and bobs – some of which I use daily but most of which I have abandoned to the gods.