I don’t dwell on the passage of time, as a rule, but sometimes you are forced to acknowledge that you are no longer young. I was pulled up short just a few days ago when I saw a photo in a magazine of a so called mystery object.
I was amazed. There was nothing mysterious about it all. It was a mincer. Every kitchen worthy of the name had one not so long ago. My Mum made her mincemeat with one every year. I still recall the smell of the spices, dried fruit, apples and suet as the sticky mixture emerged through the holes as Mum turned the handle of this robust cast iron piece of equipment.
However, it is some years since I saw the mincer and I wondered if it had been thrown away. I was quite excited, then, to see my Dad emerging from the garage with the rather rusty, dusty Spong mincer last time I went to see him.
So now I have a restoration project underway and a quest to find some suitable recipes where I can mince something ( but not meat! ).