People are boiling their wooden spoons on TikTok. I will not join them | Rachel Cooke

A few weeks ago I finally gathered the courage and walked into…the shady place at the back of the fridge where no hands ever go (sorry if you were expecting something bolder). To be clear, our fridge is relatively clean: nothing seeps into its salad bowl; no cheese crust awaits death where butter lives. But the top shelf, where I store the jars, open but not yet empty, was getting too cluttered. In the front row I could see a Kilner of pickles and purchased Daylesford black currant and violet jam (ha) with a recent EuroMillions win, and neither of them seemed to give us botulism. But the Lord alone knew what was behind it. Something had to be done.

Two hours later, the dishwasher was full of jars, and the trash can with their (mostly unrecognizable) contents: a morning of satisfying job, and one that got me thinking about what else in the kitchen I could profitably clean. The spice cupboard, which looks a bit dusty? The space I ridiculously call my pantry, which recently took on a somewhat abandoned look? What I absolutely hadn't considered, however, was joining the crowd in boiling my wooden spoons. I am the child of a microbiologist. I hold to the idea that, in general, wood is naturally antibacterial. I've had the same cutting board for over 15 years and have only ever wiped it down with a damp, soapy cloth; no one has died so far.

The spooky boiling spoon trend - said to lead to horrible excretions - started on TikTok. A woman in the US called Lulaboo Jenkins posted a video of a ritual spoon boil that has been watched by 49 million people. I read about it, and even as I rolled my eyes – how completely deranged I thought it was – I recognized it as another sign of the strange state we find ourselves in. Our attitude towards hygiene, and by extension towards dirt in all its many forms, is getting weirder and stupider. Every street in the city is littered with fast food wrappers; I have never seen them dirtier. But while it doesn't seem to cause any disgust in most people - they walk around oblivious to the ketchup on their heels - much of the rest of life causes nausea. Yet we struggle to convince people to eat items that are past their best before date. Yet people cannot eat food that has not been ruthlessly disinfected beforehand.

Fish should be decapitated and meat wrapped in film eating ; buyers prefer potatoes that have no trace of soil and apples that come in plastic bags. Something tells me that spoon boilers are the same people who are timid to the point of phobia when it comes to the distant prospect of mold; the carcass of a chicken; a commodity dropped very briefly on the ground; any type of dish that looks less perfect than Insta. All of this is highly paradoxical. What they can't see doesn't bother them; most would balk if they knew what happened behind the scenes in the food chain. But equally, what is invisible is also borderline terrifying. These are the people who constantly spray their work surfaces with chemicals and become extremely tense around shared utensils.

But back to the wooden spoons - and in fact , to all things made of wood. I like an aged wooden spoon; in all respects they are more aesthetic than new (or boiled). In the bric-a-brac, I'm always on the lookout for old breadboards. They are so beautiful; I prefer the ones with Bible verses engraved on their edges. Life in the kitchen should be synonymous with pleasant haptic experiences, and there is nothing better than holding in your hand an object that you wear with love and use, but which is still useful.

< p class="dcr-8zipgp">I may have already mentioned that I have an old bread knife with a wooden handle, which has the words "Manners makyth man" written on it. The first "m" is almost missing now, victim of several generations of thumbs. This knife isn't quite sharp enough for some trendy crusts anymore, but using it makes me happy and grounded: the kind of person (even more than usual) who doesn't care about a few germs.

>