Recently, my ma (who is 87, donchaknow) decided to bake some scones. Now, she’s been a pretty good cook all of her life and attention to detail and minutiae of all things cooked knows no bounds! We’d all rather eat with her, than schlepp down to that Michelin starred restaurant we have on our doorstep when summoned to join her for a nosh. She’s that good. My dad was the master of triple cooked chips...before it became a ‘thing’. Summer BBQ’s always featured his skill...and his own take on Kentucky Fried Chicken made it impossible to not turn up!
Growing up, every Christmas Eve would find us in the kitchen, baking mince pies..at midnight! It was our tradition. Obviously half of them would disappear into the ether as we tested them fit for consumption.
Christmas Eve would also find us decorating the house in the vibe of Santa’s grotto. The walls would be covered with silver foil, the ceiling festooned with paper chains. Every nook and cranny would be filled with glitter and glitz. The 7ft Christmas tree chosen each year by Dad would be unveiled and was covered in baubles and tinsel..only to topple over because we’d only decorated the visible side. Something that has taught me in adulthood that the back view is as important as the front for different reasons!
Anyway, back to Ma and her baking. She’d called me earlier in the day. She was on a baking kick and had planned her attack! She was just missing some baking powder and would I have any? I didn’t, as I’m not a baker but I’d pop over later with some. Of course I forgot but Ma is too polite to mention it a second time.
Later that day, she called again.
“Don’t worry” she said. “I found some in the back of the cupboard so I made them. Don’t bother coming over to taste them. They’re disgusting. They’ve gone an awful grey colour. I think the baking powder must’ve gone off.”
“Throw them away.” Said I.
“Oh no,” she replied in the ‘war spirit’ voice she uses. “Can’t do that, it’s a waste. I’ll use a bit of butter and jam and they’ll be fine”
The next day, I popped over for a visit. I made the tea whilst she wittered in the background. I caught the tail end of her ramblings “..and I ate the lot. I wondered where my rooting powder had gone!’
I spun around, knocking over the milk in the process.
“Come again?” I asked.
It transpires, that both her baking powder and rooting powder come in similar cardboard containers. The rooting powder had fallen into the sink so she’s placed it on the window ledge to dry out but the label had become vague and washed off. After a while she’d forgotten what it was so assumed it was her baking powder so popped it in the ‘baking cupboard.
Bonkers!
On another note, she’s just had her COVID vaccine. She’s worried about the long term effects and the change on her DNA. I’m not sure her worries are best placed if she hasn’t freaked about what she actually has put into her body! If she grows another arm, I’ll pit that down to the rooting powder!
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