Glass is one of the materials I trust to touch my food. I try to store my food in glass, I refrigerate it in glass, or in glazed ceramic. Kitchen tools made of glass are a bit more unusual – glass rolling pins? Glass jelly moulds, gorgeous! But the everyday glass utensil I love most is my glass juicer. It’s a modest, simple thing.
The pressed glass juicer has its roots in the early 18th century ceramic presses, used in Constantinople to extract citrus juices from imported lemons. In the dark of November, I’m quite happy with imported lemons myself, though naturally I’d prefer to grow them in a glasshouse, a Victorian orangerie. As it is, well-traveled oranges and lemons are still just the thing for short, cold grey days.
(Now, I often mix a bit of our freshly squeezed juice with cod liver oil, or rather, the other way round, to mask the flavour, in hope of surviving the northern darkness with a bit more natural vitamin C & D induced health, joy and contentment than one might experience after a solid three months of rain. Endless rain.)
I’m fond of the juicer not only for its simplicity of materials, and its wonderful, fluted shape, with a trough designed to catch the liquid – some even have shapes to collect the seeds! But what I like is that there’s just very little to go wrong with it. Well designed, and nothing more to worry about. I lived for a while without one, in London I had almost convinced myself that a fork was quite sufficient, until that fork got through a lemon into my palm. A most unfortunate combination. In Canada I was reunited with this, my grandmother’s glass juicer, and I am glad of it.