musingsponderingsandrants

One day last week the mash on my shepherd’s pie was lumpy.

This is bad in the ‘World According to My Offspring’ for two reasons. One it isn’t actually a shepherd’s pie as I made it with minced beef, and so therefore it is a cottage pie… my mistake… I blame too much Masterchef Australia for my children’s gourmet tendencies. And, two, my kids hate lumpy mash. Again see Masterchef above.

And here is why the mash on my COTTAGE pie was lumpy.

I like to top my COTTAGE pie with cheese. Well actually I top half my COTTAGE pie with cheese so my darling husband will partake (please see my earlier entry Food Glorious Food– which incidentally remains my least read entry of all time, which I think is a shame, I thought it was quite funny, but then, hey, what do I know, its probably to do with timing (please see my earlier entry Timing, Its Everything, if you need an explanation)- if you need an explanation). Wow what a master of subordinate clauses-which middlest has been studying in Grammar this year- I am.

He unpacked the kitchen (see my earlier post Maxims for Successful Kitchens) when we moved house. And now I cannot find the cheese grater. These two things (his cheese aversion and his unpacking of the kitchen) may be related although he swears not. It is odd, though, that as far as I can tell it is the only thing missing from my kitchen. Even the knife and spoon that remained in the German dishwasher we left behind (again see Maxims for Successful Kitchens) made it back via my lovely buyer.

I was searching for the cheese grater more thoroughly than on my last attempt. And entered the cupboard that my husband had haphazardly piled with my Robochef and all its accoutrements, my hand held blenders, my lovely Boden electric cake whisk which I treated myself to when the cake requirements for Cub Camps became excessive, the sandwich toaster and the little mini blender I used to puree carrot in when my kids were weaning (mental note must do a blog entry about that!).

Whilst furteling around in the cupboard I put my left hand in a small bowl which I have never in my history of owning my Robochef (about 20 years) ever used- it probably chops garlic or fresh herbs (dried herbs were invented for a reason people) or some such poncy thing- and slit the middle finger of my left hand open. Two things flitted through my mind. One how sharp that twenty year old blade remained- credit to the makers of Robochef- and OUCH!

One of the many things I have noticed about aging (please see my earlier blog entries Senior Moments & My Brain for others) is that my blood takes much longer to clot. It didn’t look like much of a cut. But it bled like a stuck pig. I pressed kitchen roll to it and held it in the air for as long as my biceps would stand. About a minute.

And anyway then the phone rang, which in itself is a minor miracle (see Rant Alert and Rant Alert Update), and as I no longer have caller ID- I lost that somewhere in the LLP debacle (you really need to read those entries)- I felt I must pick up. Ironically it was someone who thought I had recently been involved in a no fault accident.  However as she couldn’t put a monetary value on my inability to mash root vegetables I hung up.

I was now under increasing time pressure as I was due to take out my lovely friend (she of the laundry fame- please see my earlier entry The Definition of Sod’s Law) for a birthday shopping and lunch trip. And I needed to mash the topping for my COTTAGE pie.

The cut would not stop bloody bleeding. And I am allergic to plasters, which anyway are out of reach in a cupboard which my husband unpacked. So I tried to mash the potatoes whilst holding a piece of kitchen roll to my finger. It did not really work. I had to drop the kitchen roll which meant that I could only mash for about 5 seconds at a time before droplets of blood threatened to turn the potato a fetching shade of pink. As such my usual vigorous and thorough technique was somewhat lack lustre and led to lumpy mash.

Which my kids complained about. Along with who got the most cheese (please see my earlier entry The Unfairness Indicator) which I had managed to grate a barely sufficient quantity of using my tiny Parmesan grater in between swabbing down the work top (perhaps the only substance not to show up on it too badly is blood…see Maxims for Successful Kitchens)

In the end I did have to resort to a plaster so I could leave the house. Its 24 hours later and the cut has finally stopped bleeding and is now just throbbing not really that gently.

As for that cheese grater. I will find it I am sure. Probably after I have bought a new one. That’s Sod’s Law (again).