I have mixed the pastry, paying particular attention to what granddaughter Katie, when a littl’un, used to call “fingertips”. Flour, salt, butter, lard combined together with just enough water. To one
side stands the pie dish containing the braised beef cooked the previous day to save time today - there is no way I want to spend more time in the kitchen than is strictly needed when we have an extremely welcome guest to stay. All I need to do now is to roll
out the pastry to make a lid for my pie, before consigning it to the oven to cook for twenty minutes or so.
At this point, I realise I cannot find my rolling
I know, of course, that my rolling pin hasn’t vanished into thin air. It is far too, well, substantial for that being a solid, wooden
implement at least 18 inches long in old money. What has happened is that the Lovely Kay, who spent ages rearranging my kitchen cupboards last Wednesday while I was out lunching with two other Ladies That Lunch of my acquaintance, has found a better, more
appropriate place for my rolling pin. It is only unfortunate that I don’t know where that is.
I do, however, have Mr B’s sister Angie here with me.
She is our very welcome visitor, her presence having given her Big Bruv a considerable boost. It’s not that my ever-present attentions don’t generally speaking keep him reasonably content but variety, as they say, is the Spice of Life.
The other advantage to having Angie here, in terms of my latest problem, is that she is a fresh pair of eyes who can look around my kitchen and suggest where she might put
a rolling pin, had she been allowed the run of my kitchen cupboards. She also wonders aloud whether, should we fail to track down the RP, I could use a bottle in its place? This is interesting (if only mildly so) because it makes me remember the days when
I had, on occasion, used an empty milk bottle to roll out pastry. That proved necessary when I managed to break the rather splendid Pyrex rolling pin which joined our household as a wedding present. It was hollow, with red lids on each end, the idea being
that you filled it with cold water before attacking the pastry. I loved that rolling pin.
The trouble is that our milk comes in plastic cartons these days
which are pretty useless for rolling pastry. I suppose I could fetch an unopened bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in from the wine rack in the garage but that somehow seems a step too far...
There is only one thing for it, Angie and I agree - though I hate to disturb her weekend, I will have to text Kay to ask her where she hid my rolling pin. This will guarantee, I am quite sure, that the moment I press the send
button on my mobile phone I will immediately find the missing kitchen utensil.
So it transpires. I tap in my “Help!” message, press send, raise
my eyes from the screen of my mobile phone - and immediately spot the rolling pin, standing loud and proud in the tin of other kitchen utensils standing next to the oven. Of course! Where else? I have to send Kay another message heading her off and apologising
for (i) disturbing her and (ii) doubting her.
Angie loves the pie. Indeed she is the perfect guest who declares that she enjoys all the food I place before
her over our splendid weekend. It isn’t all about the food, though they do say cooking for friends and family is a way of expressing love. Mr B was adopted as a baby, and didn’t meet up with this sister for many years. It will take many a weekend
to catch up on all the time lost but each time we meet we make a really good stab at it. This weekend was no exception.
After Angie has departed for home, Mr B
surprises me by thanking me for all the delicious food I cooked over the course of the weekend, for working so hard to make his time with his sister such a special occasion. I am touched beyond words.
I’m so glad I finally found the rolling pin...