take one woman with low self esteem, but quite good hair
add one moronic illness
stir in some medication which causes hair to fall out
mix it all up and this is what you get...
Saturday, October 07, 2006
I'm not good with carrots.
Like with beetroots, I am distrustful of their smooth texture and their sweet-but-not-really flavour. I am especially suspicious when they are cut into rounds and boiled, but I will tolerate them in a julienne or ribbon format or in thin shards in a chinese stir fry. As I commit these "rules" to writing, I realise how preposterous they must sound. It was only when I met Big that I realised just how fussy an eater I am.
And so it was, when the nice people brought me bunch after bunch of carrots, my heart sank, just a little. They sat there, resplendent with their green stems still attached, neglected, for a good few days.
"Coleslaw, I'll make coleslaw," I resolved. Carrots are acceptable in coleslaw, according to the rules. I bought the white cabbage. But there is only so much coleslaw two people can eat. I needed another, more permanent, carrot-based solution.
I bemoaned the situation at work. A colleague's eyes lit up:
"You could make c@rrot c@ke*! I love c@rrot c@ke..."
Making the carrots unrecognisable and probably negating any of their benefits by drowning them in butter, sugar, nuts and flour - that was my kind of plan! I couldn't believe the thought hadn't crossed my mind. In my excitement, I texted Big:
"C@rrot c@ke! I'll make c@rrot c@ke!" I exclaimed, as hinted by my punctuation.
"I was going to suggest it myself, but I thought it might contravene the 'rules'..." he replied.
Whenever Big comes out with something like this, I wonder what kind of freak I must be to live with. Countless attempts to incorporate new ingredients into the old standards, consistently thwarted by a mysterious lack of explanation.
"No, they just don't *go*."
I have instincts about food. I am, I'll admit, somewhat of a purist, although this *could* be interpreted as snobbery if you're on the receiving end of it (see post below).
So I made the c@rrot c@ke with all the grated knuckles that entails. It was incredibly moist (I wondered more than once whether it was too moist, but was reassured by Big's groans of enjoyment), gently yet firmly spiced with a cringingly sweet, creamy icing (although I made only half the suggested amount). It was a lot of c@ke for two people, so I took a slab of it into work to share among my colleagues.
It didn't last long. One colleague had two pieces, thus depriving another. One slice had to be shared between three, such was it coveted. My boss declared it to be the best c@ke he'd ever had and decreed that everyone should bring c@kes in whenever possible. In fact, he even offered a "prize" for those who did.
A couple of days later, he presented me with a cardboard box.
"That's for the c@rrot c@ke"
It was a brand new, TFT monitor. Much coveted among the non-Helpdesk staff. The lucky Helpdeskers get them automatically, because they spend all day at their monitors. Like the rest of us don't?
I was taken aback.
Particularly as I now have to break the news to him that I have just been offered another job, which I intend to accept...
* in case a colleague googles c@rrot c@ke, ends up here and makes a disgruntled comment, forcing me to shut yet another blog down. Paranoid? Moi?