Sorry But I Just Love Cleaning My Fridge

Go on, admit it. There’s at least one thing in your life that makes you feel unbelievably arrogant. It’s that weird flex that came to mind when reading this first line. The thing you almost wish could be a personality trait because it so fervently sets you apart from the masses.

For me, it’s my spanking clean fridge. 

Seriously. 

My shiny fridge. Standing stark in the kitchen with its transparent shelves and crystal-clean cooler. My fridge, bringing daily joy each time I open it and see that flickery light blink like a warm morning welcome. 

Ahh, my fridge. 

Now why, you ask, would this matter to a twenty-something living in Amsterdam? The city with the highest number of cultural attractions per capita, world renowned nightlife and UNESCO heritage status. There’s a whole world of soft drugs and techno clubs on the doorstep, and I’m writing about a double-stacked food preservation machine. 

It’s because no one ever cleans their fridge. So I make it a point of pride to. 

Remember all those times visiting parents/friends/lovers and finding yourself eye to eye with a half eaten pickle jar with brown grime around the rim? All those memories of reaching for the butter and gliding your hand over a sticky substance that takes the next three hours to wash off the skin. That's not food! That’s just trauma masquerading as inedible substances. 

Not to mention the mental scars of when you first left home and needed to feed yourself. Trundling into the kitchen from your draughty dorm, consumed by insecurity and homesickness. You convince yourself of your enviable cooking skills because of the bumper stack of student cookbooks on the counter. Only then do you open the fridge and find the purple smear of your housemate’s beetroot in every crack and crevice. That one dry cheese slice. Wet crumbs in the cooling filter, impossible to get out unless you stick fingernails in there, cursing at those shitty 50 cent microfiber cloths. 

Now that’s what I wish to avoid. At all costs.  

I want my fridge to be a safe space. A place where people enter with pleasure, not just reach in and shudder. I want people to sigh with relief as they find exactly what they need, among the odour of fresh fruit and lemon cleaning spray. 

So each time I feel the stress of scrubbing down those shelves minutes before grocery delivery, I imagine a friend’s gleeful face as they so easily lean in and find the honey-mustard dressing, no gunk attached. The same standards apply to stacking my soft drink cans and unpacking each little row of eggs. As Marie Antoinette once said, “let them eat cake!” And in the right size tupperware at least? 

Truth be told, I can barely cook myself. But after years of nourishing this culinary inept body, I’m under the impression (delusion?) that if food is well preserved, it’s basically the same experience. I’m content being the girl that made their boyfriend skip three back episodes of The Kardashians just to find out which K had the freestanding fridge only for green veggies (Spoiler alert: it’s Kris). I mean, they all have private chefs - and Kendall can’t even cut a cucumber - so evidence suggests, preservation is half the equation. 

And the world of fridge related culture doesn’t stop there. I’m telling you, If you ever need an icebreaker for a particularly dreary Google Meet, “What’s always at the back of your fridge?” is a question that keeps on giving. You’ll learn oodles about Keith from accounting or Brenda from marketing based on what they forgot to throw away last June. Me however? I stay anonymous this way, a culinary mystery that no one knows what sustenance I survive on. 

So here are some tips for all you dirty fridge sufferers out there. No, you don’t need those tiny bottles of soy sauce that never left the last time you ordered sushi. Seriously, your own soy sauce is better and you know it. Also, get some proper dishcloths. I know it’s tempting to use those dinky multipack things or your brother's old t-shirts. I know even more the pain of the share-house dishcloth, which no one (NO ONE) wants to wring out after months of wiping up soggy Cheerios. 

Sometimes the struggle is real. Especially when you’re the housemate to step up and clean a fridge where only ¼ of the shelves are yours. But suck up your pride, because let’s be honest, it’s actually incredibly easy. It’ll bring ounces of joy for far longer than it took you to soap those icky corners. If you can wipe your counter, you can clean your fridge. 

Now my oven… that’s a different story.