Mrs P takes on the task of making some bread. Photo / 123rf
COMMENT
Flexible. Silicone. Loaf. Pan.
Just four little words. None of which are likely to cause mayhem in today's society.
Or at least you'd think they wouldn't. And on their own, you would be correct. But put them all together in a sentence and you have a recipe for much mirth and frivolity.
So here's the thing. Mrs P decided this past weekend was the perfect opportunity to do some baking.
Keen followers of my weekly ramblings will know that my beloved suffers with a long-term illness, which means she must not have any gluten in her diet. As a result, she has found it easier to make her own stuff rather than searching high and low at the supermarket.
Take bread for instance.
The stuff she occasionally buys costs around $8 a loaf. You've probably heard the maker laughing all the way to the bank. She can make basically the same thing for a fraction of the price. So it's a no-brainer.
And that's why I found myself on Saturday afternoon shopping for a particular baking dish.
Not just any dish mind. This had to be, according to the requirements of the recipe, a "flexible silicone loaf pan".
Now I don't know about you, but I am relatively inexperienced when it comes to all things baking – actually, it would be fair to say all things "kitchen" if I'm honest - and it was with some trepidation I found myself heading for the kitchenware section of our local outlet.
Naturally, because I'm a bloke, I did not heed Mrs P's request to write her requirements down, preferring instead to memorise the four words.
I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
I must admit I thought it would simply be a question of rocking up to the shelf in question and selecting the item I needed. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy and eventually I had to ask someone for help.
That someone turned out to be a relatively inexperienced youth who was in his first few days of employment, he said, but he would do his best to help.
"Flexible silicone loaf pan," I said from behind my mask as he leaned in, concentration pouring from his ears as he asked me to repeat it.
I did, trying not to laugh as the thought of the puzzled look beneath his own mask came to mind.
"Mexican silicone float can?" he queried.
I tried again.
"Flexible silicone loaf pan," I said trying not to giggle, and equally determined not to pull down my mask so he could hear me correctly.
To the lad's credit, he didn't dismiss me as some confused old codger but went to find a colleague who could help. Apparently, she has been working there three weeks and knows where everything is.
"Hexagon syllable floatplane?" she asked when I made my request.
I have to say I was close to having an accident most usually linked to a toddler by this stage, such were the giggles I was trying to contain.
"Is that a model toy?" she continued helpfully. "Have you tried The Warehouse?" Bless her.
By this stage, we had made it up to the front counter where the senior checkout operator, who presumably had been employed for a month or more, was brought in to solve the conundrum.
"A Mexican what pan?" she asked before politely observing my request was muffled by my mask.
Could I write it down?
I was sorely tempted to write something equally obscure – Mexican syllabus coat stand for example - but I knew the fun would go out of the situation if I pushed it too far. Besides, Mrs P would be waiting at home, gluten-free dough at the ready for piling into the pan I was trying to buy.
Thankfully, my new friends had a sense of humour and when I wrote down my request they all laughed.
Unfortunately, they didn't have what I needed but suggested I try another shop.
I did and within half an hour I was headed home to my beloved with the much-sought utensil.
It worked a treat, she said, as she washed it later. Very easy to use and good quality.
It certainly seemed to do the trick in terms of the bread it helped make. It was delicious.
I just wonder if a hexagon syllable floatplane might have worked better.
