Still, I keep plodding away thinking that my Kitchen Mojo will return but it hasn't and you know what? Last night I had something happen that I couldn't have made up in order to relay a funny if untrue story. There's some bad vibes going on in that kitchen.
Firstly, what with it being Wimbledon fortnight I've got meals planned that are really simple, last night it was Salmon Fishcakes. I've made versions of these countless times but presentation-wise they're not up to sharing, that's why there's never been a recipe.
Anyway, I boiled the potatoes and used my ricer to make the mash. A few potatoes in the ricer broke, the pin that holds the arm and the ricer part had come loose. Strands of mashed potato shot onto pretty much every surface in the kitchen. What a Fooking mess.
When The Glutenite came home I explained what had happened to the ricer, by now the Fishcake mix was totally done and ready for molding.
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That's when I developed a very confused expression. Where's the other bit then?
I looked in the utensil drawer, not there. No sign of it anywhere.
It was obvious really but I couldn't accept the fact that it had happened. By now the Fishcakes are under the grill and I'm seriously worried. The Glutenite takes bites so huge, what if he swallows it? I knew I'd be fine because I eat the smallest of mouthfuls but what about stubborn head? I'd told him that I was sure the ricer bit was in a fishcake but he still took big bites.
It's not just flavours that aren't working together for me, now I'm getting foreign objects in my food. What are the chances? I've used that ricer countless times though it should be noted, not in my loss of Kitchen Mojo phase until yesterday.
Then it appeared, in the smallest and very last fishcake made. Thankfully on my plate.
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I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. When I was a child my Nan on my Mum's side would make my Dad Trifles and often he would find foreign objects in them. Unidentified bits of plastic and wire if I recall, he said she was trying to kill him. We never did find out where they were coming from. The joker that is my Dad also used to tell me that my Mum put cigarette ash in the pies she would make him. As far as I know she didn't but I wouldn't have put it past her.
I come from a wonderfully strange parentage.
Tonight's meal is tried and tested and requires no kitchen equipment other than a fork, baking dish, saucepan and oven. So surely, surely nothing can go wrong?