an open letter to measuring cups and spoons

Dear Measuring cups and spoons,

I like you so much.  I actually think I love you.  There’s no need to slowly build up to that in this letter, I want to start this off with you knowing that.  Now, I may have started off a letter to a boyfriend in high school with these exact lines, but this time is different.  I mean it.  Nothing in the world can change how I feel. 

We’re in this together.  I’m not going to run out on you and pull some sort of Ina Garten on you and try to eyeball three tablespoons of really good olive oil, or whatever.  I need you like you need me.  Where I lack precision, you step in.  It’s like we finish each others sentences, or something.

I want more of you.  Really, I want more measuring devices – spoons carved from fallen Red Woods, and Russian dolls and milk bottles that cleverly come apart to measure dry ingredients.  It’s not because I don’t love you, or that you’re completely boring.  You’re classic brushed metal, and I like that about you.  It’s just that I need some variety, for it is the spice of life after all.  And you deserve a break, too. 

I could go on and on – devote precious minutes spelling out how having you in my life makes me complete.  But, I’m going to keep this short and sweet.  (And I’m going to catch up on Downton Abbey.)  You don’t have to say a word, even if that were possible.  I know how much you love me. 

Forever yours,


Check out other letters I’ve written to stuff in my kitchen here and here.