Wax Off, Wax On, Again!

The Mr has reported that when he and I started dating, you know, way back in the Pleistocene, he found my mother's kitchen fascinating — much like visiting a museum. 

I lived with my parents from birth to my early 20s. The house I grew up in was built in the early decades of the 20th century, and to be fair to my folks, they did some updating along the way after they bought it in the early 1950s. They hired a carpenter to add arborite countertops to the old cabinets which were finished around the edges with a strip of aluminum. The mid-century fridge had a tiny freezer compartment at the top that was only big enough for two cans of Minute Maid frozen orange juice and a tray of ice cubes, due to frost build-up that got to such a great thickness that it would take a full day to defrost — a twice annual event that was best accomplished on those frigid, minus degree days in January when 4 inch-thick ice on the window kept foods chilled that were set out on the sill. But as home remodeling TV shows had not yet been invented, there wasn't the same pressure in those days to lust after the latest appliances or to create a kitchen island where guests could gather to watch you cook. Guests in the 1950s sat in the living room where they belonged and were served a cocktail with a smoked oyster on a cracker, after which they would then be invited to the dining room table for a meal that my Mum ceremoniously presented from behind a swinging Hazel door (named by me for the main character of a favorite TV show) which lead to her inner sanctum — the kitchen — a room that remained resolutely old fashioned right into the late 1970s when the Mr and I got married, the house went on the market, and Mum and Dad moved to an apartment.

One artifact that piqued the Mr's curiosity in our kitchen museum was a wax paper dispenser that hung on the wall. Even though plastic food film (Saran Wrap, specifically) had been invented in 1949, plastic garbage bags in 1950 (in Winnipeg, as a matter of fact), and Ziplock bags came along in 1968, NONE of those staple products were used in our household. Mother would have nothing to do with this plastic revolution: our family used wax paper almost exclusively. 

Filled with an industrial-sized roll of wax film, that wall dispenser saw as much action as a box of tissues in flu season. Mum wrapped my school lunch sandwiches in wax paper. She folded it around baked goods destined for church teas. It covered leftovers in the fridge. She even used it as a cutting surface — her culinary technique not having been honed by watching TV cooking shows, but rather from high school Home Ec class. She did not own a cutting board. She used a paring knife held in her right hand to peel vegetables held in her left, and any chopping or dicing she did was on the wax paper. The peelings could then be handily crumpled up and tossed away. 

A generous square of wax paper was laid upon the floor as a mat under the brown paper grocery bag that was our trash "bin" — which offered absolutely no protection from the ghastly mess on the floor if the bag split open when lifted — which it did frequently — for removal to the backyard galvanized garbage can. Our poor Cocker Spaniel ate off a square of wax paper on the floor adjacent to the garbage bag. His can of Dr. Ballard's was splorted out onto the paper, which was whisked away when he was finished dredging his spaniel ears in the wet food.

The most creative use award really needed to go to my Dad, whose surgical precision filleting sardines was magnificent to watch. He would open the tin with that tiny key that curled back the lid, lift each mini herring out, and lay it on wax paper in prep for the fish-gut-ectomy. He then dispatched the minuscule, oily extracts to a wad of newspaper for bundling up. He should have received a Nobel prize or studied to be a fish surgeon. 

Fast forward to today. The city of Nanaimo, where the Mr and I now reside, has a very progressive recycling and trash disposal program that is moving toward zero-plastic-waste. This has prompted us to once again eschew plastic wrap and use wax paper instead — which is accepted in our green bin for the municipal compost pile. It is ideal for wrapping food items. It is equally useful for bunching up peelings, scraps, and greasy bits to throw out, in an effort to prevent the compostable brown paper grocery bag, that we are now using to line the garbage bin, from becoming saturated.

And thus, we have become my parents.

Here are your take-aways from this blog: 

1. Everything old is new again. 
2. My folks might just have been early environmentalists. 
3. Wax paper or not, there is no escaping greasy, wet, brown bag wreckage enroute to the garbage can. We re-enact the ritual cleanup frequently.