Hubble, bubble, toil & trouble

Poor Wayne. Ya gotta feel really sorry for this ultra-patient wonder-dude.

He bravely forayed into the world of omelettes yesterday at lunch time, including hand-whisking the whites into a stiff foam, and creating a fresh salsa mix of peppers, tomatoes and red onions for filling.

Unfortunately, the temperamental stove top decided to thwart his brave beginner's efforts and burned the bottom of the omelette before cooking the middle.

Wayne carefully trimmed all the burnt bits off (into the pig bucket, LOL) and presented me with a very attractive plate of salsa omelette.

To whit, his wife took one teensy bite, went an unbecoming shade of peuce .. and went right off the idea of eating eggs for, oh, about a month.

Now if someone had done that to me, I'd probably have chucked their plate at them. Well maybe not.. but I'd have been tempted, and I wouldn't have been very impressed with their thoughtlessness.

But Wayne's altogether more understanding, and is well used to my Anti Cravings by now. (Just as well, because I'm still shocked and appalled by them.)

So my wonderful darling cleaned up my plate as well as his own, while I returned to my usual fare of citrus yoghurt, an orange, and four plain Digestive biscuits.

Saggitarians must be really secure on their culinary laurels. Just the other day I was thinking of some of the more interesting concoctions my mother has ventured into, and the story of the pickled grapes came to mind.

Mum is a very creative cook. Her Chicken Maryland is so unbelievably good that I would request it as my last meal on death row (along with barbequed Baramundi, but that's another story). Her Ice Cream Custard has been known to cause normally dignified grown ups to push and squabble like toddlers, just to get the last scrapings.

However she can come up with some real duffers, too. Like pickled grapes. (This of course is entirely subjective.. I know for a fact there are people who love her pickled grapes, but I have have never been numbered amongst them).

Somewhere between "Fans" and "Not-So-Much" of the pickled grapes, are the "Fakers".

Take the Ex for example.

The first time Mum offered us some pickled grapes was about fifteen or so years ago, on a platter of cheeses, crackers and condiments. Greg (a big fan of pickled onions) hoed in with gusto, and RAVED about the new food.

He went so ridiculously over the top that Mum went straight to her pantry and took down every jar of pickled grapes, and gave him the lot. The way he thanked her, you'd think she'd handed over the keys to Fort Knox.

Each time we saw Mum after that, she gave him more and more jars of the grapes, and each time he accepted them with gusto.

Except.. I knew his dirty little secret. On the way home that first day, I'd commented that I didn't actually like the grapes, and please feel free to eat the lot of them yourself. Greg replied he didn't like them either, but he wanted Mum to feel appreciated.

"Don't be a dork" I scolded. "The poor woman thinks you love them, and now she'll turn into a factory churning them out for you. Tell her the truth - it's better than the alternative!"

But Greg never did like letting the truth get in the way of a good story, so he carried on, and Mum carried on... and pretty soon I was running out of places to hide all these glass jars.

It got really awkward when Mum started asking why I hadn't returned the cleaned jars to be refilled. I couldn't say "Oh you mean the hundred or so that are unopened and sitting at the back of the cupboards?"

I can't "do" secrets, and conspiracies annoy me. Finally I took Mum to one side and told her the truth. Just as I expected, she snorted with annoyance and said "That stupid man. Why didn't he tell me from the beginning, and save me a lot of time, expense and work!"

Then promptly got on with her life, bearing no grudges, and certainly no sour grapes.

Me.. I'd have shoved each and every jar of those grapes down his gullet, as a lesson.

Unopened ;-)