Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The case of the furious fig

A wooden chopping board with a chef's knife.
Today was one of those days when I find myself asking whether I am equipped to deal with people at all. Despite giving self several pep talks, doing some deep breathing, and allowing self to rant, I finally just gave up with a sort of hunched-over hopelessness. The thing is, I am contemptuous of people who won’t do their jobs to the best of their ability. I am disdainful of people who won’t communicate effectively. I cannot stand high-handedness. And the fact of the matter also is, if I need help from people who embody precisely these traits, then I had better buck up and train myself not to harm them, because, all said and done, I don’t want to go to jail for the sweet pleasure of releasing my frustration. So there it is. (Never mind wide-ranging incompetence and foolish cover-ups, it is I who must exercise restraint and be as sweet as the hostess of a tea-party for little girls.)

So, falling back on primeval instinct, I swept into the kitchen and began cooking and cleaning at a furious pace. Chicken in the fridge? Slap it all over with spices, throw in pan! Onions in basket? Rip skin, hack into pieces, and throw in pan with chicken! Scrub chopping board, knife, immediately. Scrabble in storage cabinet- wait, custard-mix! Grab milk, make custard, stirring the custard to an inch of its life. And so on and so forth, if you get my drift. At the end of it, there was not only an amazing, tasty dinner; there was also a jaw-droppingly delicious dessert with flavors of fig, cinnamon, orange and apple. The big problem in my life NOW, as opposed to earlier, is what to name this heavenly creation of mine. I think, given the circumstances, I will call it the WHAT THE FIG.

1 comment:

Friend said...

I will remember this and hassle you to make it again, you realise.

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