I have a mushroom bowl.
By this, I mean I have a white bowl adorned with a variety of intricately stenciled black mushrooms. It sits about 10 inches high and has a similar diameter. It’s made of some kind of enamel, cast iron mix. It’s microwave friendly.
I love my mushroom bowl.
Originally, my mushroom bowl wasn’t my mushroom bowl. It was made in Finland, which it displays proudly with a stamp on its base. My grandmother received it as a gift and mostly used it to make salads. When my grandmother died, it went to my aunt.
My aunt and uncle gave me the bowl in August 2021. They learned I was going to have a kitchen in my new on-campus apartment and were worried I wouldn’t have the gear to cook anything for myself. I stopped by their house right before I drove 18 hours from Seattle to Los Angeles and picked up a box full of kitchen supplies.
It was one of the first things I unpacked a few days later. I put it on the top shelf of my cabinet, thinking it would only be of occasional use. When I cooked dinner for myself that first night, I needed a bowl of a particular size and there it was. It has since become a bottom shelf bowl — I need it accessible at all times.
On the average night, my mushroom bowl holds rice and lentils. I cook one to two cups of rice in my rice cooker, along with a pot of Progresso lentil soup, Rosarita black beans and an assortment of vegetables. I pour everything into my mushroom bowl and stir it all together into a delightful goop.
When it gets warm, my mushroom bowl holds ice cream. It’s big enough to justify a sizable portion: two, three, four, five scoops? Doesn’t really matter — that’s between me and the bowl.
When I’m feeling more metaphorical, which happens occasionally, I say my mushroom bowl holds my gratitude. I’m grateful I can cook for myself. I’m grateful my mushroom bowl can see Pepperdine’s campus at all — something that seemed unlikely two years ago.
I’m also grateful for the familial connections that brought this bowl into my life. The thought of multiple generations of DeYoungs cooking their food together and placing it all in the same bowl is comforting. My gratitude sits in the bowl each night, along with the beans.
My mushroom bowl is versatile. Too big of a portion? No problem; a piece of saran-wrap over its top and a spot on the middle shelf of the fridge does the trick. Even in the heat, my mushroom bowl keeps it cool.
After a meal, I wash it in the sink. I slosh some water around to rinse out any small bits of food before I clean it with a sponge. While the water swirls around, the bowl sings a subtle, metallic tune. After it dries, it returns to its designated place on the shelf.
Even on the toughest days, it’s nice to know I can find some good news simply by opening my cabinet.
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Email Alec Matulka: alec.matulka@pepperdine.edu
