a little known fact about me: I am super frighteningly obsessed with crockware like this. don’t ask me to explain—i have no idea why or where it stems from—I did not grow up with a special emotional attachment to crockware, nobody gave me soup out of a crockware bowl when I was starving—it’s just there.
and green apples so close to beautiful bowls makes me squeal. and go oooooooooooooooohhhhh. and fight the desire in my figures to put the apples in a pretty stack in the bowel.
maybe this is just my version of working class grandmas collecting glass bells or beanie babies.
pretty cookware and bowls are a wonderful thing to collect and eat from, and a terrible collection to move with