Pantries can be time machines. An expired tin of lychees moved house with us – twice

As a child, I didn’t understand the ancient food decaying in my grandmother’s cupboard. Now I’m beginning to “This oregano is best before 1985!” my sister cries, adding it to the pile on the laminate bench. It’s Hervey Bay circa 1991. My family is staying in Gran’s retirement villa, my sisters and I on camp stretchers in the garage. A single pedestal fan brings short bursts of breeze, rotating relief from the December heat. The town is not yet on the backpacker circuit. There aren’t any cafes, shops or streaming services, and there are only so many games of Scrabble we can take. So we “make our own fun”. Argue; roam the quiet, manicured streets; rummage through Gran’s house. My best discovery is in the fridge: salad dressing two whole years out of date. I show my sisters the bottle with a mix of glee and revulsion. Next we comb the pantry for disgusting delights. Gran doesn’t seem grateful for our help, doesn’t understand our horror at the idea of living so long that you have herbs almost as old as your grandchildren. Instead she defends herself, backed up by my parents: “Dried oregano doesn’t go off”; “Salad dressing is mostly oil and vinegar”.

May 30, 2026 → May 30, 2026