|William Eggleston: Untitled c. 1971-1973|
So there is something about icebergs that I find absolutely terrifying. Their austere beauty fills me with awe but it also fills me with a sense of fear and horror that is really quite dizzying. Just how I feel when I look at the contents of my small freezer . . .
I had decided a few weeks ago that I should start running down the freezer in order to get ready for Christmas. Last year my seasonal preparations were completely slapdash and last minute. I didn't make my mincemeat until the week before Christmas (and we were eating the damned stuff right up until April) so this year I have decided to be a bit more organised. This was even one of my New Year's kitchen resolutions.
I was even feeling a bit smug as I've actually made my mincemeat already, but one look at my freezer had me feeling somewhat daunted, not to say a little faint.
I have no idea what I've actually got in the ice pit. It's funny how things go into the freezer, looking quite recognisable. I'd even labelled most of the containers with their contents. But a few months in the freezer and everything is a uniform beige colour and it turns out the indelible freezer-proof marker pen I had used to mark up the freezer's contents is anything but . . .
So I am now in the position of regularly removing plastic tubs of frozen food and then waiting for them to defrost. There is something slightly forensic about it, as I look for clues as to the contents; a sort of culinary CSI. It means that over the next few weeks I'll also have too cook what's actually there and not necessarily what I "feel" like cooking. But hey ho, it's all part of the adventure, and every time I open the freezer, my resolution may at last bring me some peace of mind!