If spoons were a gold standard of the kitchen economy, I’d be a rich man.

This bouquet of spoons slowly formed over the past two weeks at my desk upstairs. That’s where I stir my morning coffee around 5:35 and then stack the spoons before browsing the web and connecting with the world.

The spoons just sit there long after I’ve left, sometimes for days, until some spoonless soul comes along and takes them to heaven in a fit of chores.

Today, that spoonless soul is me. I’m, like, the savior of spoons or something, baptising them in Dawn dish washing liquid.