I n the bygone era of (bronze), (brass) and (copper) utensils, the tinsmith or calls echoed through bustling streets. Picture a time when kitchens were adorned with these metallic vessels, their inner (and often also the outer) sides veiled in a lustrous sheen of silvery tin, known locally as The practice was born out of necessity, for brass, an alloy of copper and zinc, was deemed unfit for cooking. The , a protective coat, shielded the utensils, rendering them safe for cooking or for storing cooked food.
Yet, this protective shield required periodic coating, as it tarnished and faded within a few months. The a nomad capable of gleaming transformations, would traverse the city’s labyrinthine streets, his resonant call beckoning households to partake in the alchemy of restoration. Upon his arrival, he would fashion a temporary workshop on the ground, carving into the earth to create a pit.
A leather (or bellows), nestled within was covered with soil. A satchel of coal that he carried with him awaited its fiery destiny to heat the utensils to a glowing warmth. The burning coal was kept alive by pumping air through the .
Enter the , a tiny piece of pure tin, melting like liquid silver upon contact with the heated surface. With a masterful stroke, he would spread the molten tin, transforming the once mundane vessel into a resplendent piece. Next, he would immerse the rejuvenated utensil into a bucket of cold water, sealing the radiant coating in a shimmering embrace.
The march.
