Everybody knows that living on an island is, by definition, a political act. Whether divided as north versus south, newcomer versus old-timer, working-class family versus empty nest retiree, or aggressive online entrepreneur versus the laid-back, back-to-the-lander, there’s always a line forming that will divide islanders into different camps.
Nowhere is this more apparent and evident than when you look at the shelves attached to the door or doors of your refrigerator.
What? Excuse me? Did I just say something about refrigerator door shelves? Yes, you heard me right.
Those fridge door shelves are more than just storage space for jars, packages, containers and other foods that don’t efficiently use up room in the main compartments of your refrigerator. No, they actually mark out a virtual pecking order of gourmet delicacies and specialty items that you long ago forgot you had purchased for an obscene percentage of your grocery budget.
Take, for example, that squat glass jar of Conimex Sambal Oelek Vers Gemalen Chilipepers that has made its way all the way to the narrow top shelf of the door. The ingredients on the label have faded so badly that they are no longer legible. The expiry date is etched on the glass with hieroglyphics and it is impossible to know for certain whether the “best before” year date is BC or AD. To be sure, the Sambai Oelek must have been a key ingredient in an exotic recipe of some Paleolithic drawing chiseled onto a cave wall, but those days disappeared about the same time as the latest eruption of Mount Sambai.
Alongside the jar of Sambai Oelek, and probably just as mysterious in origin, sits a short canister of organic Maison Orphee Yellow Mustard with Turmeric (or, as they say in Paree, “Moutarde Jaune au Curcuma”) that had been verified as Non GMO even though it was probably processed back when genetic modification meant something you did to your pet gerbil when your parents weren’t home.
You may not believe this, but the position of the assorted food containers on the door shelves is by all accounts a contest of high status/low status. As time goes by, they work their way down lower on the door as they get older and it becomes harder and harder to remember why you bought them in the first place. By the time they make it down to the bottom shelf, it’s not worth the effort to bend over low enough to be able to identify which mystery food you are dealing with. In a sense, the bottom shelf of the fridge door is kind of a purgatory for specialty food items. When they reach this point in their nutritional descent, they can be easily hoodwinked into trusting that they are still of some culinary use. They may still believe that they have entered a Witness Protection Program portal for out of date condiments where they will be given new labels and identities. Little do they realize that, because they can’t get any lower on the fridge door, the next stop for that tube of Giovanni’s Gluten Free Anchovy Paste is the compost bin.
Somewhere tucked in the corner of one of your fridge door shelves is your collection of probiotic capsules and tablets. Maybe you’ve got the Double Strength Acidophilus and Bifidus with 10 billion active cells. Or perhaps you’ve stashed some Acidophilus Ultra with 11 billion cells for IBS support and restoration of intestinal balance. Either way, you know you will never open either probiotic in fear of unleashing billions of intestinal bacteria on this fragile earth.
A good way to help you remember where you have placed your precious little brown bottle of Blue Ice Fermented Cod Liver Oil Non-Gelatin caps is to regularly take photos with your camera phone of all the items inhabiting every shelf of your refrigerator door. We call these “shelfies,” and they can really cut down the time it takes to find that Favuzzi “The Artisan’s Way” Green Olive Tapenade before you decide it’s too dangerous to even try to pry open the canning lid. These photos may also help you to locate that collection of restaurant pads of butter and ketchup packages that you were sure you had placed somewhere safe in case of an emergency.
You can never really know what goes on inside your fridge once the door is closed. Just like the 1970s San Francisco comedy group, Firesign Theatre, spoofed in an ad when they described the finer selling points of a refrigerator, “Close the door and the light stays on,” all kinds of nefarious activities may be transpiring on the inside with most of the insidious actions occurring right there on the fridge door shelves. It is quite possible that insults are being hurled from one shelf to another and even between products occupying the same shelf.
Most guilty of this demeaning behaviour and “trash talking” are the various mustards, which are always looking to increase their condiment status. As a result, the Dijon mustard spends much of its shelf life dissing the Heinz yellow mustard, but is itself ridiculed by the French’s Organic Classic Yellow Prepared Mustard. At the very top of the mustard food chain, and thereby occupying the top shelf, is that tiny little imported glass jar of brown speckled Edmond Fallot Moutarde au cassis de Dijon, which, even when it was still full, contained only enough mustard to barely flavour a single Reuben sandwich. Of course, none of these mustard containers were stored upside down on their shelves, and consequently when squeezed or shaken, produce only a thin runny liquid while a concrete-hard lump of the solidified substance remains stuck to the bottom of the jar or bottle.
Nobody asked me, but living on an island can feel an awful lot like being squeezed onto one of the narrow shelves of the refrigerator door. You may not know who or what you are. No one may know or care where to find you. You may not get along with your neighbours or they might not want to get along with you. You may be as compatible as Dennis’ Original Horseradish is with Uncle Luke’s Organic Maple Syrup. Nevertheless, you can still make it work. Just remember that just because the door is closed, the light may still be on.