@deputyfangs confessed: 05. a peek inside their CLOSET & 10. a peek inside their PANTRY.
from: “ a peek inside... ” | no longer accepting
CLOSET DRESSER — there is no traditional closet to be found in the walls of the small rectory, nor does the occupant’s wardrobe demand one. a wide six-drawer grain wood dresser will do, with brass handles and a smart dark stain to match the bed frame. a simple organization system is kept : one drawer for underwear ( socks, t-shirts, boxers and briefs all included ). another for lighter-weight cotton dress shirts, and even a few collared short-sleeves and polos. pants ( slacks, jeans, and the belts to match ) are at last neatly folded and piled into the bottom-left drawer. the first two compartments on the right side are dedicated to an array of thermals, sweaters, cardigans and light jackets, even a few heavy flannels. the bottom-right drawer is a sort of catch-all drawer for items used infrequently --- memento tourist-trap shirts from his travels in college and divinity school, his old college baseball uniform for the Columbia Lions, gag shirt gifts from his sisters and the like. otherwise, the wardrobe is a sea of dark and muted colors, a monochrome gradient that slowly ventures into blues and greens, even the odd crimson if he’s feeling a little more daring. but nothing ostentatious. his tastes are simple.
other clothing necessities are not found inside the drawer, but placed around the rest of the rectory. shoes and a pair of old wool slippers kept near the foot of the double-wide bed ( those boots that are muddied and yet to be scrubbed clean are left out on the porch ). his hat, heavier black coats, and a couple scarves ( knitted and gifted to him by Millie, of course ) hang from the rack by the main entryway. baseball gear is hung from a shelf by the bedroom doorway --- a Yankees ball cap. an umpire mask dating to the ‘50s. a mesh net filled with spare balls. polished wooden bats, resting upon the shelf. and an aged pitcher’s glove, given to him by his father when he made varsity in high school, kept in good condition even despite the decades of use. he takes great care of it, which is just as well - he refuses to ever pitch without it.
holy vestments ( chasubles, robes, and cassocks alike ) are stored in the church sacristy, of course.
additional items of note are perched atop the dresser : an ever-revolving collection of the novels he’s currently renting from the mainland library, always including a copy of whatever he and Missus Gunning are reading for their weekly book club for two. a single beeswax candle mounted on a brass chamber stick. a thin family photo album. a small wooden box with a gold latch, filled with more personal memories from his childhood and up into his years at divinity school --- mostly photos with family and friends. little keepsakes from his travels abroad. and a few collector’s rosaries and glass vials of holy water, blessed by Pope while visiting the Vatican. finally, there’s a Smith-Corona Brand electric typewriter. the SuperCorrect Electra model dates back to the mid-1980s. it is the most recent piece of technology he owns.
PANTRY — a full kitchen pantry is just as important as a well-stocked fridge, especially for a single man with twice the appetite of most of his married neighbors. of course, there’s the cookware : a couple stainless steel pots and pans, but he’s partial to cast iron and copper, reflected by the vast majority of his modest collection. some piled on shelves, others hung from the hooks he installed on the inside of the cabinet doors. a couple are a bit off-center, a little crooked if you squint. another keeps colliding with the edge of the shelf, the cabinet now always propped ever so slightly ajar.
one of the shelves is home to the many mason jars and plastic tubs he calls tupperware. those currently not in use are stacked in a nesting-doll-fashion, largest to smallest. another holds his plates, bowls, cups, glasses. a full set each. he might not need many himself, but there’s many a time he’s hosted guests for lunch or dinner, both expected and unexpected. it’s sinful, after all, to allow anyone to leave the home hungry. and yet another shelf holds the rest of his mug and kettle collection that isn’t displayed around the counter, and a 1971 vintage 3.5 qt. Rival-brand crock-pot, in the shade of avocado green. a gift from his mother --- he didn’t ask for it, but with how busy her son gets she insisted on purchasing one and bringing it to him on a visit. a handy thing really, even if he often fights to find the time to cook. on a slow and sleepy island, there are still days where “setting it and forgetting it” comes in handy.
the stock of food continues to reflect the family traditions, just as the refrigerator does. tastes acquired, ingredients considered staple. lidded jars of arborio rice, lentils, cannellini beans, and cornmeal ( coarsely ground, the polenta is never firm enough otherwise ) are never allowed to fall below half-way full. tucked behind them are the containers of various dried mushrooms, to be kept in the cool and dark corners of the cabinet, able to be hydrated in a pinch. when one thinks they purchased enough mushrooms for the sauce, that’s when one needs more. the shelf of wine is split by the half - the left holds those bottles for social drinking, some store-bought but the greater majority home-distilled from the vines in the garden. those on the right are reserved for cooking ( or to be sipped upon by the chef ) - vermouth, marsala, madeira, and a variety of the drier whites and reds that add depth to a stew lacking a proper recipe. the liquors form the barrier between both sides. grappa. limoncello. a bottle each of his favorite tequila and gin. and the remaining unopened stock of olives and peperoncini.
there are bundles of fresh herbs, garlic bulbs, onions, shallots, and a full rope of calabrian chilis spanning the length one of one cabinet door. there are various Campbell’s canned soups can be used as a dish foundation, or as a quick read-to-heat meal if he’s really pressed for time. there’s flour. sugar. baking soda and powder. there’s bouillon cubes. chicken and beef stock. there are cans of San Marzano tomatoes, whole and peeled, the only respectable base for any red sauce. there are storage pillars of coffee and espresso beans, now in need of a refill after a busy week. stacked tins of various teas. a manual coffee grinder. and the last item of note is a sewing tin, home to the pizzicati, cioffee, and various biscotti sent to him by his Zias on a near-monthly basis. even from miles away, they’re hellbent on overfeeding him.
