Some people spent lockdown panic-buying paint; others splurged on stand mixers to supplement their new-found baking addictions. While my friends treated themselves to fancy make-at-home restaurant boxes from Bocca Di Lupo and Som Saa, my indulgence was less lavish. I ordered myself 20 litres of white distilled vinegar — perfect for a wild weekend of grime-busting, descaling and deodorising.
I have a penchant for pickles. My eastern European constitution regularly craves the visceral tang of ogórki konserwowe (pickled gherkins in Polish). I have been a devotee of acetic acid for as long as I can remember — many years ago my babcia (grandmother) caught me sipping malt vinegar in her pantry.
Extolling the virtues of vinegar comes naturally. I can wax lyrical about its myriad
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