D-day (delivery day)

So today the Thermomix has arrived. It was like getting ready for a date, house all spruced and I put on extra deodorant. I just had to go and get the can of deodorant to know how to spell it, there is a crossed wire somewhere between restaurant and deodorant in my brain. Tell me I’m not alone.

Apparently Italians get chicken and kitchen mixed up, which is totally understandable when you consider how many chickens are sacrificed in kitchens. If I was a chicken, just hearing the word kitchen would be like hearing the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Which has a much scarier ring to it than the four chickens of the apocalypse, when you think about it. Which is why horses never get nervous when you start talking about kitchens, clearly.

Back to delivery day. There’s not much to tell, really, apart from that I made custard, juice, granita and pumpkin soup. And then the machine and me had a martini and a cigarette.

I think this might be the real deal.

It’s my birthday and I feel like dancing with Antony Hegarty. And so do you.

Listen for the whocka whocka whocka Heart Of Glass disco beat in the background and remember that way back then it was spinally safe cutting loose and slamming around a dance floor. Herewith Hercules and Love Affair with Antony singing up front.

Smashing the lid to the sugar bowl really means I love you and I want you to succeed.

I did. I really did that and the sub-text of that moment (aimed squarely at a fifteen year old male, the sub-text, not the sugar bowl lid) was “Why didn’t you realise that you can’t just hook my printer usb to your Brand New Laptop and expect it to print? And while you were not realising that why did you also not realise that you can’t just email from your Brand New Laptop without having the email account set up? And why weren’t you thinking about this last night while you were out on a river cruise with 100 other stinky fifteen year olds whose ONE THOUSAND WORD ENGLISH ESSAYS are also due today? And you are going to lose points on that essay because you weren’t thinking about this stuff even though that essay was ready on time. You’re fifteen, you’re supposed to know more about computers than I do. So I get to wash all the undies AND I have to be the computer expert?” This is unreasonable and smashing a sugar bowl lid will make it better. Or it might make you move more quickly.

The sub-sub-text of that moment might be baggage around what support I didnt have when I was fifteen which I have tried ‘specially hard to deliver to this fifteen-year-old in order that this fifteen-year-old might succeed in areas that I failed.

I know.

I probably should have aimed the sugar bowl lid at him rather than into the laundry, right?

And if you think I’m going to walk bare-foot through smashed shards of china because I’m feeling deeply ashamed and guilty right now, you’re wrong.

P.S. Anyone who suggests that I have PMT needs to know that I am carrying a shiv.

Well howdy folks.

See that messy kitchen in the background? That’s where it all happens. We have lived seven beautiful years in this house. My kids have grown from a toddler and a tween to a tween and a teen, the dog has gone deaf and is dabbling in incontinence, we have two fat red hens and while life is steady and easy and filled with joy I am anxious about claiming it so, lest the gods of fairness hear my boast and decide to toss some shite my way. Hear That Gods? I take Thee NOT for granted. So lets not screw with each other, Thee and me.

I have started this blog as I am about to start training as a Thermomix demonstrating person, wherein I get to be a zealot about good food, running all over town and spreading the word. And the sorbet.