The wooden spoon

People are always asking me, "Jake, what's your favorite dish?"

As the internationally recognized preeminent dish washing blogger of the 21st century, I suppose this question isn't out of line. But it's also stupid. Like a crabby mother with dozens of old, dirty bastards, I hate each one of them equally. Plates, bowls, baking dishes, whatever -- they're all terrible.

A better question, in my opinion, is, "Jake, what dish strikes the most fear into your heart? What keeps you awake at night for fear of slipping into a terrible dream full of grime and grease and bits of food product?"

The answer to that question is this:

The wooden spoon

My history with the wooden spoon is a complicated one. You see, I grew up in an era when spanking your children was not as controversial as it is today. In fact, in my day, a mother waling on her kid in public elicited not a "How dare she?" but an "If she didn't do it, I would have."

However, when it came to punishment, my mother liked to think outside the box. Once (maybe several times), as a teenager, I forgot to lock the door when I left the house and no one else was home. Instead of simply grounding me, Mom decided that it would be better to revoke my privileges to anything that might have been stolen as a result of my irresponsibility. Of course, nothing was actually stolen, but for a week or two I wasn't allowed to watch TV, go on the computer or talk on the phone. When I protested that someone might have very well decided to kidnap me, I've no doubt that my mom's initial thought was, "Who would want you?"

But even before I was a smart alack teenager, I was a smart alack child -- which leads me to the wooden spoon. At all times, my mother carried in her purse a wooden spoon for child-rearing purposes. Rather than spanking my brothers or me with an open palm like a normal mother, mine would swat us a couple times with the wooden spoon. If we acted up in the super market, the wooden spoon came out. Mouthing off at home? The wooden spoon. Being brats in church? Withhold not the chastisement from a boy; if you beat him with a wooden spoon, he will not die.

She swears she broke one or two wooden spoons over my bony, white ass, but I must've buried the memory deep within my subconscious, from where it will probably emerge one day in a psychopathic display of serial killings by wooden spoon. If you ever hear about such crimes on the news, you probably already know who's responsible.

Whether it's a ruler, a belt, a paddle or an open palm, nearly everyone has something that conjures terrible, yet oddly nostalgic memories of childhood punishment. My live-in girlfriend (LIGF) says her mother kept two switches in the house that she called her "angels" (except they're Croatian, so it was probably "andeli.") Whenever LIGF or her brother would misbehave, their mother would simply point to her angels, and the kids knew to chill the eff out.

For me, it was the wooden spoon. That horrible wooden effing spoon.

This might also explain my dislike of the band Spoon.
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Cleaned: 4 spoons (not wooden), 1 cheese knife, 1 PIZZA cutter, 1 butter knife, 1 edged knife, 1 grater, 4 cups (glass and plastic), 2 coffee mugs, 1 spatula, 1 baby spatula, 1 brush, 1 whisk, 3 measuring cups, 2 measuring spoons, 4 plates and saucers, 1 frying pan, 1 iron skillet, 1 blender, 1 baking dish, 1 blender

Completion time: 19 minutes

Playlist: "Vanessa" by Grimes, "Emergency Room" by Ford & Lopatin, "The End" by JJ, "Transparency" by D'eon, "Quantum Leap" by John Maus, "The Preakness" by Panda Bear John Maus - Quantum Leap by RibbonMusic