D'oh! -By Chickens and Bees
After a while, the guys moved out and I moved in with him, obviously bringing some of my own things with me, one of which was a large jar of cornflour. One day I came home from work to find Chyken had made soup and bread. I noticed the cornflour jar on the bench. It was empty. I had used it a couple of days earlier and it was full.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: What flour did you use to make the bread?
Him: Just flour.
Me: Yes, but what sort of flour?
Him: The one in that big jar.
Me: Um… That’s cornflour.
Him: Yeah, whatever, it’s flour.
Me: Can’t you tell the difference between flours?
Him: They’re all white, they’re all the same.
Me: It’s not going to make bread.
Him: Yes it will, flour is flour.
Me: No, it won’t.
Him: Of course it will… Look!
He opened up the breadmaker to find a congealed, hardly mixed together, blob of non-bread.
I just smiled and got my keys and headed to the shops to buy some real bread to have with the soup. At least I had figured out why the bread had been so hit-and-miss in the beginning.
When I first met Chyken he was living in a share house with two other guys. He had a breadmaker and used it often. Sometimes the bread was perfect and delicious but other times it was hard and sometimes really doughy and revolting. Because I was in the new stages of love, I didn’t say anything and ate it anyway.
After a while, the guys moved out and I moved in with him, obviously bringing some of my own things with me, one of which was a large jar of cornflour. One day I came home from work to find Chyken had made soup and bread. I noticed the cornflour jar on the bench. It was empty. I had used it a couple of days earlier and it was full.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: What flour did you use to make the bread?
Him: Just flour.
Me: Yes, but what sort of flour?
Him: The one in that big jar.
Me: Um… That’s cornflour.
Him: Yeah, whatever, it’s flour.
Me: Can’t you tell the difference between flours?
Him: They’re all white, they’re all the same.
Me: It’s not going to make bread.
Him: Yes it will, flour is flour.
Me: No, it won’t.
Him: Of course it will… Look!
He opened up the breadmaker to find a congealed, hardly mixed together, blob of non-bread.
I just smiled and got my keys and headed to the shops to buy some real bread to have with the soup. At least I had figured out why the bread had been so hit-and-miss in the beginning.
___ . . . ___ . . . ___
Chickens and Bees is written by the oh-so-fabulous Jo. The Chicken is Chyken and she is the Bee... though she happens to be allergic to bees. We share a mutual love of bacon and chocolate (but not together) and it helps me overlook her love of cats.
She lives in a Castle and writes about her not so perfect life with her perfect man who cannot bake bread. She believes firmly that drinking Sprite Zero makes up for inhaling Jaffas by the handful.
As a PTSD survivor, Jo is an amazing woman who is always fun to chat to on Twitter and on her Facebook fan page.
Next Week: Time to go running with newbie WA blogger Emma
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(You don't have to be a blogger, or even to ask first, just send it in!)
My Irishman is known to make mistakes like that in the kitchen. Ideally I like him to just stay out, but he likes the breadmaker so I buy the packet mix. Fool proof!
ReplyDeleteI can only think his parents have a lot to answer for. Thanks for the laugh. :-)
ReplyDeleteFMIDK
We don't have the breadmaker anymore....
ReplyDeleteThanks for posting my story Glow!
Jo.