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Tools and techniques, part 2: Spurtles and spatulas

First We Eat: Preferring wooden hand tools means keeping a wide assortment

Published: February 28, 2025

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A crock of wooden spatulas and spurtles and flexible spatulas sits on prime real estate beside my range.

It was too hot in September 2024 in Grass Valley to be wearing my red crocheted holiday elf toque with the white pompom, but gift-giving was on my mind. Mom and I were in California to visit my best beloved auntie, and my cousin had told us about a terrific annual crafters’ sale. lt was too hot even in my auntie’s sprawling foothills ranch house to do much, so we climbed into my cousin’s runabout and went to town.

Well, it was hotter in Sacramento as we wandered the labyrinthine alleys of the finest craft sale I’d ever encountered. In the rows of sewing and quilting booths, we drooled over handmade bags and wallets, kids’ aprons too cute to be spilled on, pet clothing, batik blouses designed for California patios and wine-imbibing. Then we found ourselves among the woodworkers.

At one stall, a grey-haired man held out a length of smooth-polished dark brown wood to me as I pushed Mom in her borrowed wheelchair past without stopping.

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“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“A spatula,” I said, halting, surprised the maker needed to be told what he’d made.

But he was only joshing me. Of course he knew. “A spurtle for your oats,” he said. “Surely a strong lass like you eats her oats every morning? Hand-turned walnut for making morning porridge.”

Spurtle is an old Scottish word, and you will find it if you look up the Golden Spurtle World Porridge Making Championships, in its third decade, and yes, held in Scotland. I detected a faint rolling of his r’s as he said “spurtle” and “porridge” and recalled my red-haired Scots-Irish granny Doris stirring porridge at my mother’s stove long ago. Her porridge was disgustingly lumpy. Mom had shushed me when I tried to complain, so I ate my way around the lumps and fed them to our Irish setter who ate anything except onions.

This spurtle was a gorgeous piece of workmanship, simple in the extreme — a straight, tapering length of wood, its angled business end wider than the handle end. I admired it, bought some California olivewood spoons, and started to leave, but the woodworker shoved the spurtle into my hand.

“A gift,” he said, “just for your porridge, no garlic, no onions.”

I have many wooden spatulas, most of them made of tightly grained and gorgeous olivewood. They are the first hand tool I reach for after I lay down my knife and prepare to cook what I’ve just chopped up. A wooden spatula’s lip is invariably too thick to slide under a tender fritter or patty, but it’s great for stirring sliced onions or brussels sprouts or ground turkey. Have a wide assortment because, as the man said, a spurtle for oats is not a spurtle for garlic and onions: wood absorbs flavours. It also discolours: a bonny olivewood spatula will stain purple if you use it to stir your borscht.

So, yes, first we eat, then we look at our countertop collection of hand tools to see what works.

Deconstructed jambalaya allows all flavours and textures to shine while reducing the risk of overcooking each element. photo: dee Hobsbawn-Smith

Deconstructed jambalaya

I’ve never been a fan of mixed-up-all-in-one-pot meals, with a few notable exceptions, so when Dave mentioned jambalaya, I got out the baking sheet. This recipe is easily adaptable to the number of folks at your table: simply add chunks of sausage or chicken thighs commensurate with appetite. As a timesaver, I use my favourite pantry staple, frozen Roasted Tomato Sauce. Add a pinch of ground filé powder if you have some that’s not stale. Heat up leftover steamed rice, risotto, or pilaf to serve alongside.

Serves 4.

  • 4 bone-in chicken thighs
  • 2 spicy Italian fennel sausages, quartered
  • ½ tp. dried oregano
  • ½ tsp. dried basil
  • a pinch of dried thyme
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • 2 Tbsp. olive oil
  • 6 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 onion, diced
  • 1 bell pepper, diced
  • 1 Tbsp. Lea and Perrins
  • 1 tsp. pomegranate molasses
  • 2 c. Roasted Tomato Sauce
  • ¼ c. butter, divided
  • ¼ tsp. cracked fennel or anise seed
  • 12 shrimp, shell on
  • ½ c. white wine
  • Lemon wedges for garnish

Preheat oven to 400 F. Toss chicken and sausages with half the dried herbs, salt and pepper to taste, and a drizzle of oil. Arrange chicken on a baking sheet and roast for 45 minutes, adding sausages when chicken is two-thirds cooked. Keep warm in oven as you finish the rest of the dish.

Heat oil in a sauté pan and fry garlic and onion for 5 minutes, stirring as needed. Add pepper, cover, reduce heat, and sweat until tender. Add remaining herbs, Lea and Perrins, pomegranate molasses, tomato sauce, and simmer. Keep warm.

When sausages and chicken are done, heat half the butter until foaming in a separate sauté pan. Add fennel or anise seed and shrimp. Sauté until pink and just cooked through, a few minutes, then remove shrimp to a plate and keep warm. Add wine to pan, bring to a boil and reduce, then whisk in remaining butter. Season to taste and pour over shrimp.

Arrange components in bowls and serve with generous portions of rice.

About the author

dee Hobsbawn-Smith

dee Hobsbawn-Smith is a writer, poet and chef living west of Saskatoon. Visit dee's website for books, doings and sightings of things literary and edible.

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