I’ve never been much of a cook.
Wanda’s the chef of the family, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to venture beyond a cheese toastie in search of a quality feed and some well-earned praise.
I recently decided I’d bake a cake. Not a packet sponge with a twist of lime and a glug of icing sugar which should have instructions about how not to spread stickiness onto self. No, this determined old battler wanted a real cake.
One of the cooking books had a nice fresh fruit number so I found my shopping notebook and took detail of all we had in the butler’s pantry. The butler didn’t have a lot to offer.
Sugar. Nope. Fruit. Nope. Vanilla extract. Nope.
Never mind, I’ll buy the lot. There’s roadworks near the bigger supermarket which is just around corner from the aged care facility where residents think they can drive their carts without indicators. It’s as safe as a bumper car ride without the rubber.
It wasn’t worth the hassle and a ding in the jeep would have made it a very expensive cake. Did I say “expensive cake”? Stay tuned.
I wander in to the corner store to find a list of about 10 items. Yes, 10 items to bake this particular cake. I’m starting to think I should have stuck to the sponge.
I’m always keen to support local business, and our corner store is one of those old fashioned ones with a hamburger grill out the back where they’ll burn a mince paddy, which in turn will make its way onto a bun clumped with butter by a spoon. They couldn’t use the knife because it’s wedged into the dripping next to the chip tray.
The ventilation around the kitchen isn’t that great so as you emerge from cholesterol city wiping smoke from your eyes you rustle through the shelves. They’ve bought three of everything, each of them 10% less the amount I’ve got written on the list. I buy two of everything.
The credit card shed a tear as the register showed $85.
I go home to find we don’t have the right-sized cake tin. Nobody’s paying $85 for a cake which isn’t the right shape, so I see if Wanda’s keen for a trip to the roundabout.
It turns out cake tins of odd sizes come in sets. We probably need one of those sieve things too, because lumpy flour will probably create air pockets that’ll set off Wanda’s flatulence and if I don’t control the temperature properly, a wet cake will send my heartburn into the back of my nose.
The damage, $63.
I say to Wanda, if we’re going to do this, we’d better do it properly. How much for a cake mixer? Around $865 for a good one, or so we’re told by a bloke with a moustache and unbuttoned long sleeve shirt.
If you’re going to charge me that much for an appliance, at least have the courtesy to roll them up.
To cut a long story shorter, I did bake the $1013 cake. Did it taste that good? Not really, but that might have had something to do with a slight mishap with the stray piece of plastic stuck in the bottom of the new mixer bowl.
I’ve done the sums and the second cake will cost me about $567, and should taste twice as good. If I ever get around to it.
