If you missed my carrot tale…the one where my neighbour in basically said I was rubbish at gardening…then check it out here.
Fast forward, ooh, almost four months. Basically the months that time forgot. My carrots were slowly growing. Growing from seeds into a big, mahoosive, ok adequate sized but fully fledged and hopefully edible carrots.
This was important to me. Slightly childish, yes, but important none the less. When I stuck to my guns and didn’t give up my last bastion of relaxation away from work (especially important when nothing else in Edinburgh has been happening) who knew that success would come. A kind of coup, if you, will from the tyranny of the ‘controlling communal garden’ neighbour.
To be fair his veg have also done ok. But…he stuck to onions. I have onions too! Still a little small owing to the colder climate, but I have them and they look bloody better than his!
I am surprised, as will everyone I know, that my veg worked out. For me the outcome is not always the point of it. I enjoy having a couple of raised beds. I oddly get excited about things growing into food. And whilst I am not bloody Monty Dom even his carrots don’t always work. He just plants about four different types so that one of them will. Well Monty (and the garden warden, aka ‘that’ neighbour) how about my carrots.
I’ll leave you with a photo (actually my carrots in my photo!!!). And a couple of wise words to the neighbour.
P.s. gardening is actually rather relaxing. Im going to make soup with these carrots and whilst I am amused at how well they have done (to annoy my neighbour), I am more happy about them just actually growing.
That is not a photo of my cooker, my one is more normal looking. It is now official that no one should let me near to any cooker including my own. Hobs I am fine with but the oven though always creates a disaster. This disaster involved a missing fish slice.
As a (very long) side note I am not a 100% sure that is what you call it. I sometimes call it a spatula but realise this may be a baking implement. It was a plastic one, not a metal one but I still think it should be called a fish slice. Oh gawd – yes I am an adult. I am over 40 and I am still rubbish at anything cooking related. To be honest it is a failing in life I couldn’t care less about.
It would help if I was in a relationship with a chef. Although I dated one once and am convinced he dumped me for my disinterest in anything cooking related unless it involved eating his food. That sentence could have ended completely differently but I should also note a rising (stick that word at the end and it also applies!) disinterest in him….I would have dumped him if he hadn’t done it first. Just saying.
I lost my fish slice a fee weeks ago. I found this fact really perplexing. Where can a fish slice go?! I spent numerous occassions pondering this. My kitchen is small. My flat is not massive. I didn’t (I was pretty sure) take it out the kitchen. Why would I? Despite this logic I searched a bit around the rest of my house before giving up due to the impending doom of insanity at my actions. How would I explain this one to any psychiatrist when they took me away.
So I gave up searching and assumed it was lost with no explanation. I logically put this in the ‘oh well’ category of life’s little mysteries.
Until…. I used my oven. A rare event (did you read my baking post) and one that usually involves disaster. Due to an even more rare event as I do weirdly eat pretty clean (just involving hob things). A pre-packed meal. I was tired and needed macaroni so in to the oven went the supermarket meal.
The macaroni was good. Moorish and just what I needed to refuel. The oven however seemed a little off. It was a bit smokey. I think this happens sometimes. Does it? Does anyone else’s oven smoke a little on occasion? Is that a cooking thing?
On investigation I found something unusual. A blob of what looked like plastic. On inspection of the said blob I couldn’t figure it out (honestly I am really quite sharp minded at work!). After dinner and a bit of sofa chilling realisation struck. It was that bloody fish slice. Back I went and found the slice bit of the fish slice at the back of the oven. It must have just been the handle that melted.
Why I put my fish slice in the oven is a mystery. Why I didn’t take it out is another one. But I now just think that there is a really good way to avoid any repeat of this. Just don’t use the oven. Ever. Not even 6/7 times a year. So I am now done with the oven and have bought a new fish slice. If. Big if…I ever leave it in the oven again this one is metal 🙂