Augh!!! I’m still shaking from the narrow escape I’ve just had.
We’re having pizza again tonight for dinner. Of course I made the dough this morning and it has been happily sitting on the counter and slowly but surely rising in our rather cool kitchen. I always use the same bowl and wooden paddle to mix dough. The paddle is a wonderful one. It fits exactly in my hand and immediately after using it, I always wash it and put it in the rack to air dry. Then it always gets put away in a specific spot right at the side of the utensil drawer, out of view and out of easy access.
The other day, T bought some tomatoes to make sandwiches. No big surprise that they are not the most brilliant tomatoes. Even in the summer at the height of tomato season, tomatoes from the vegetable market are on the dismal side (don’t get me started on how needlessly crummy local produce is). T decided that he would saute the last tomato to make a sauce for tonight’s pizza. It smelled wonderful and I thought I’d go down and keep him company. And we started chatting about the day and talki… what is that he is using to stir his sauce?? Is that MY PADDLE?? How had he found it?? I always hide it so it can’t get sullied with onions, garlic, cumin, etc. etc.! I wrested the paddle from his grip and frantically washed it to the echoes of “I didn’t know” and “Good thing I decided at the last minute not to use garlic”. Good thing indeed. It took me ages to find a paddle that I liked to use but he didn’t seem to care about.
He has always used the beautiful olive wood spatula that we bought in Tarascon. The beautiful olive wood spatula that is absolutely infused with onions and garlic and all sorts of savoury and pungent spices that might make bread taste just ever so strange. And imagine what those pungent flavours would do to hot cross buns?
I’m still shuddering at what might have been. (I’ve GOT to think of a new hiding place for my paddle.)