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If you approach life with curiosity, any object, no matter how ordinary it may seem, can reveal a world of wonder. For me it was the spoon. Few household items can compete for the title of ‘most mundane’ as confidently as this ancient utensil. Having accompanied humans since the dawn of time, it remains the only item in our homes that everyone across the globe uses without exception. That’s what makes this most ordinary of objects quite extraordinary to me.
The history of the spoon is as ancient as human civilisation itself. In fact, the creation and implementation of this utensil is what transformed an animal act of eating into a human ritual of feeding. The first spoons were an organic extension of a cupped hand: seashells, small animal skulls or horns tied to a stick. They gradually became objects of craft as humans began to whittle. The English word for spoon comes from the Anglo-Saxon spōn, meaning a chip of wood.
While knives have been around just as long, at first they belonged to the realm of hunting and warfare, an instrument associated with violence – in sharp contrast to the spoon, a object designed solely to nurture.
Spoons, as our oldest culinary tool, allow for a fascinating insight into all spheres of human life, both the private and the public domain, tapping into domesticity, class and status, and allowing us to trace industrial, cultural and political developments of societies. Yes, the humble spoon has the potential to reveal stories of fundamental importance to human civilisation.
To me, the key story it tells is that of the cycle of life. It is the first utensil with which we taste our first foods and is often used to taste our last meal. There is a beautiful custom at memorial meals in most Eastern European communities to eat with nothing but a spoon. In Western Europe, historically, spoons were given as funeral mementos, often bearing the birth and death dates of the deceased. In Christian traditions, a spoon is also a treasured heirloom, presented to a young child at their baptism.
Food is a building block in our sense of self. The first tastes, the first memories of being fed and eating, are often inextricably linked to the spoon. Perhaps so much so that we don’t even stop to wonder and appreciate it.
I will always treasure the memories of offering the first taste of food to my children, wondering what the sensation of a spoon in their mouths felt like. I was filled with excitement and sadness at this first tiny step away from the world of mother’s milk, as I watched their facial expressions change at the touch of the spoon in their little toothless mouths.
In my kitchen drawer, the treasure chest of family history, I keep a spoon that my mother gifted me to celebrate the birth of my daughter, and a spoon that carries the initials of my great-great-grandfather, Leib, which miraculously survived the journey from Tsarist-era Ukraine, via Soviet Siberia, to present-day London.
Whether carved out of wood or minted out of silver, each spoon carries stories and a sense of belonging. And it is no coincidence, then, that the food we cook and eat with the spoon is always the kind that makes us feel looked after and connected to something fundamental; something that precedes us, and will be there long after we are gone.
Lozhka: Eastern European Soups, Stews & Other Things We Eat with a Spoon by Alissa Timoshkina is published by Quadrille (£28)
