Living alone is incredible. In addition to the full interior-decorative control, sky’s-the-limit creativity for hour-by-hour activities, and freedom of fridge curation, solo dwellers also have the pleasure of partaking in meals at any time, and of any nature; one need not worry about waiting until a loved one comes home to crack open your adaptogenic seltzer with a season of America’s Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, or fear any wrath if you consume the last of the half and half.
But it’s also important to be candid about the fact that there are, of course, downsides. All of the bills come addressed to you and only you, and lugging a Home Depot haul up several flights of stairs is considerably easier with help. Then, of course, there’s the issue of opening jars.
At my big [cough late thirties cough] age, I’ve spent a number of years living alone, and from time to time, issues do arise with tasks that require more brute strength that my biceps can offer, even with thrice-weekly Pilates classes. I have somehow assembled entire desks, sofas, and bed frames without help, but then have been humbled by an innocuous jar of pickles that refuses to budge no matter how hard I try to force its lid counterclockwise. Mind you, I really love pickles, and I do not want to simply give up when the urgent desire for a half-sour arises.
Embarrassingly, even my most feminist sensibilities go out the window when I need a jar opened, and I unapologetically yearn for Jason Momoa to show up and free my condiments from their glass confines. Enter my absolute favorite analog kitchen gadget (and I do mean that sincerely): the jar opener.
An odd, slightly medieval-looking metal contraption, this particular jar opener (or at least an identical one) lived in the “whatever drawer” of my childhood home’s kitchen. It was also probably the most frequently used thing in said drawer. Through some addition of torque and enhancement of squeezing, it will open literally any jar, and I do mean that. Pickles, pantry goods, pasta sauce — a Talenti jar hates to see this guy coming.
It looks like an optical illusion of some kind, but is incredibly easy to operate; I think it’s actually designed for elderly people with severe arthritis, and while I do not have any of those attributes (yet), I use mine all the time. I also do not have children, but I’ve heard that they can be annoying and ask a lot of questions and for many small favors. I imagine that owning one of these jar openers cuts down on tasks you need to perform for your child by at least three or four per month, and when they attempt to bring you a jar, you can simply banish them to the kitchen gadget drawer and let them learn self-sufficiency with the help of this surprisingly practical little invention, which also doubles as a bottle opener.
I see now that more modern, colorful jar openers seem to have made their way onto the market. I’m sure they work great, but they’re not my jar opener. My jar opener looks like it could be run over by a Ford F150 and still function.
Yeah, AI might take all our jobs and destabilize the work force by taking over many simple tasks. But guess what it can’t do? Open a stubborn jar of brandied cherries.
The Brabantia jar opener is available at Amazon.
