Tuesday, May 5, 2009


There are no kettles in Catalonia. I don’t know about the rest of Spain, or how far the denial of kettles pervades the surrounding areas, but here at least, they don’t have them.

I’m a traditional tea drinker and put the kettle on a minimum of three times a day and it sits, pride of place, on the kitchen bench. I will not relinquish my hold on the kettle.

Here, they drink coffee, and if they need to boil water for any reason, they put it in a saucepan. I feel like pointing out, as the word suggests, that the SAUCE pan is for sauces, but that would be juvenile and being mature as I am, I can resist petty insults that don’t bear up to much scrutiny.

My kettle came into Catalonia via Albert. After he’d travelled to Norway, he thought that a kettle would enhance his mother’s kitchen. Montse eyed the contraption suspiciously and promptly demoted it to the dark recesses of the cupboard that one can not reach. That was three years ago.
When we arrived last week, the kitchen was fitted with the kettle.

Unfortunately, the kettle is more for show than for use. It takes about five minutes to boil two cups of water. After the luxury of the one minute boil kettles I’ve been used to, this slow ‘Mañana, Mañana' kettle is forcing me to take a local pace indeed.

Long Live the Kettle!

Polly put the kettle on, kettle on, kettle on
Polly put the kettle on, let’s all have tea.
Sukie took it off again, off again, off again.
Sukie took it off again, they’ve all gone away.

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