On to the show...

I woke this morning with the memory of trudging through high, heavy snow clutching my stick blender to my chest like a bouquet.

A few days ago I was sure piles of crumbly white cheese were waiting for me in the kitchen.

The title of housewife has now attached itself to my unconscious identity.

Or, I'm inordinately fond of my stick blender and crumbly cheese.

Both these statements are true.

If you recall, in my Christmas recap I mentioned I received a lot of domestic gadgets. I have finally used them all and am here to tell the tale of one in particular.

Like any housewife worth her salt*, I lust after a Kitchen Aide standing mixer and its rainbow of attachments. Also like many housewives, I do not have the counterspace for such a gadget. This Christmas, I got the next best thing. A stick blender with numerous attachments. Thus far I have only used it to blend my soups. But it is a treat. (It is no secret that Pete is also excited about this particular gadget. It came with a large whisk attachment which means I now have no excuses to not try and produce a Pavlova for an upcoming birthday.)

Before the sleek little thing that is the stick blender entered our lives, I was constantly pulling down my blender from its perch high on the bookshelf/pantry and risking an avalanche of glassware every time. (I also was enduring random displays of sparks and flying vegetables.) Now I have my zippy stick blender. Name to be determined.

We are now fast friends, however the initial stages of our relationship were rocky. We found each other through the medium of Pete. I admit I was a bit apprehensive about the stick blender the first evening. And like dogs it sensed fear and proceeded to spray the kitchen backsplash with puree carrots and butter bean. Pete took over and muscled the blender and soup into submission. The next time, the damn blender suctioned itself to the bottom of the pot despite my careful and measured angle of usage. Again, a backsplash of pureed vegetables, this time potato and leek. Again, Pete took over.

The third time was charmed. We were familiar with each other. We calmly discussed our issues. The lentils and pepper swirled themselves into a beautiful harvest orange.

Of course the reality of the situation was more about me being in a hurry and a bit miffed about dinner and not having enough free mind space to be concerned about the damn stick blender and just shoving it in the pot and getting the damn soup on the table.

Let's stick to the charmed version of events, shall we?


So now we are fast friends and working together like an athletic team with potential but we all know will choke when it comes to the Big Show--The Pav




*This saying, or at least its meaning, apparently dates way back to when salt was worth more than gold, according to our Moroccan tour guide. He was asleep and/or possibly hung over for the majority of our trip so this could be cmplete BS.