Do you remember the Important poll I did?
(I admit, it was some time ago).
The ‘important question’ came about because I’m disgusted at the mere thought of sugar on tomatoes. And seeing someone actually eat the concoction is even worse. I am forced to convince myself that the sugar is really salt. It helps that they look pretty much identical.
Which reminds me of an incident many years ago…
… When I was a young woman, still at school but nevertheless striving for my independence, I had a part-time job. In a supermarket. In the bakery department.
Generally, all I had to do was pack and label bread. Serve customers. Count leftover stock. Sometimes
pop extra unbilled cakes in favourite customers/hunky boys cake boxes slice bread for said customers. Have a laugh with my mates And wipe down shelves.
But occasionally, the lovely bakers would unofficially let us mess around in their kitchen.
For instance, being friendly with the bakers meant I once saw my wobbly, irregularly shaped rolls appear on the rack with the other regularly shaped ones. They didn’t sell. But I still had a ‘proud moment’.
On one occasion, being in a hurry to be somewhere other than work, a baker decided I was trustworthy enough to not only pack and label the rhubarb and the apple pies, but to sugar the lovely warm, aromatic pastries, too.
I waved her off enthusiastically. And set about my business, giving the delicious lids somewhat more than a light dusting of sweet sugar.
I packed and priced each of the sixty apple pies and placed them invitingly around the store.
Then I proceeded on with the sixty filled with rhubarb.
In between I laughed with customers as I sliced their bread and loaded them up with cakes.
I called the information desk to tell them to promote the pies over the tannoy. The evening had rushed by and those pastries still needed to be sold.
I noticed the time, and hurried around in the back of the bakery trying to finish off all the jobs expected of me.
Then I noticed a huge tub on wheels in the middle of the floor. Exactly the same as the one I’d just finished with.
My stomach dropped right out of my bottom because I quite clearly saw the word ‘SUGAR‘ scrawled across the side.
In a blind panic I fled to my tub which plainly stated ‘SALT‘ on it’s exterior.
Started to shake.
And felt rather faint.
Then I set the quickest lap time whilst simultaneously throwing pies in a trolley, known to man, woman or child.
I counted fifty-something pies. My tannoy announcement having done wonders.
I had to restrain myself from grabbing salted puddings from passing customers trolleys in an effort at not drawing attention to myself.
Trying to convince my young mind that everything would be all-right, considering over half of my salty pies were ‘out there’ somewhere, was not easy. But I had more than enough to think about, deciphering a way to remove the remaining, undissolved salt from the tops.
I spotted a brush. The type you use for spreading paste on wallpaper. It looked clean enough and I’d never seen anyone actually using it.
I hurriedly tried to brush off the salt then smothered the lids in as much sugar as humanly possibly, to try to disguise any remaining salty flavour.
Then I rammed the dastardly desserts into fresh packaging, slapped reduced stickers on them and propelled them back onto the shelves like a bat out of hell crossed with the Duracell bunny. On speed.
I did not get my comeuppance. No one complained. No one shoved their salty-should-have-been-sweet-pie under my nose and asked, “What the hell is going on, in these here parts?”
I did not lose my job.
Work just continued as normal, except for one small thing:
I noticed that the bakers did use that brush.
To dust down the walls.
What has that got to do with my poll?
To which I have no real answer, so I’ll march on with the results of the poll which clearly gave me an overall majority, in that 10 out of 17 voters eat their tomatoes with salt.
And NONE (are you listening, husband?) eat tomatoes with sugar! Not even your fellow Germans backed you up.
As WordPress cleverly compiled the results for me, something happened.
Sitting at the breakfast table, one morning, eating her, ‘to exact specifications’ muesli (which is oats, ground almonds, brown sugar and milk, with absolutely no flexibility, normally) our four-year-old Akasha, who I should add, watches over me suspiciously for sneaky ingredient additions every morning, decided to add a special treat to her muesli.
Can you guess what it was?
I would not, in a million blogs, have thought to put that in my poll!