The first wrong thing was a calculation problem…
Sometime during lockdown I sent the Engineer to the butchery. We support a local butcher who has always given us fantastic service. I make the list and he runs off on a hunting trip where he can do some inspiration shopping of his own, allowing him time to buy whatever looks good.
On his list are six lamb shanks. This is what the recipe calls for. When he arrives home he asks me about the weight and I pull up my shoulders. I have never done a thing with lamb shanks. He presents four to me… the size of a leg of lamb each. A well-fed lamb at that. I am not deterred. There will be leftovers, there will be sandwiches, we will love these lamb shanks. In the freezer, they go to appear on the menu a few days later. I leave them out to defrost overnight.
The Engineer who is also the chief braaier gets the night off as I start my preparations mid-afternoon. They need to be in the oven for four hours. Things need to be braised and coated and chopped. But, being bored and task less he ventures towards the kitchen where being an engineer he observes that my Agila casserole is too small for my cooking adventure. “No, they will fit if you stagger them.”, I announce pointing at the picture in the book where the food photographer did something fantastic in a casserole almost identical to mine. So we stagger… they don’t fit. To such an extent that we can only fit two. At this point, I realise that this will however feed a party of ten adults. I have never been great at calculating I have always believed that there should just be more than enough.
Exactly 3 weeks later the other two lamb shanks make their appearance on the menu. Unknowingly a lot of the recipes that appealed to me the last two weeks were Moroccan, and this one sent me in search of Turkish apricots. A fantastic recipe (also called for six lamb shanks), which I ended up using as a suggestion only, because it turns out, that I could not find all the ingredients. My version can be found here.
The second wrong thing was a purchase…
Last week found me in the doctor’s office for an ear infection (not surprising, I know). So the kind gentleman prescribes ALL the pills, basically, the whole pharmacy, warning me that the one, although a very low dosage, may have some side effects. I drink everything as prescribed on Thursday evening. I fall asleep seated in the living room. That night I have very strange dreams and although the doctor has said to take things easy, I am working from home. So that personal life work-life is not really separate at this stage. Friday morning before 9 am I have cried my way through two packets of Kleenex. I have cried my contact lenses out. I have cried into my coffee and through a Skype meeting. I have cried over a casserole that I cannot afford. At 10 am I tell my colleagues that I am taking a sick day and put myself to bed… where I cry myself to sleep. At this point, I don’t know if it was the medication or if it was just me knowing about the medication, but Friday my body told me to remove myself from public society because I was making a fool of myself. By Friday afternoon I had read three different blogs where witty 20-somethings told me how to pull myself out of my funk. Listing peppy music and a manicure. But I got the gist of it. They were referring to self-care. Which is something that has fallen off the list the last couple of weeks.
On Saturday morning the Engineer fled the atmosphere and Kleenex with the Lilliputians for their music class and I shuffled my pajama-clad self to the bathroom. I was going to (insert drumroll here) shave my legs. I was going to pluck my eyebrows and I was going to put on a facemask that I had purchased accidentally. What I thought was a face wash (I blame the COVID mask that makes my glasses fog up during shopping), turned out to be a charcoal something or other that was good for … probably peppy 20-somethings.
I was then also going to blow dry my hair and even put in my contact lenses. I was going to wear something other than my owl slippers. I was going to make an effort even though I felt like being upright deserved applause.
So the accidental facemask was the perfect thing. It made me feel… well not 20 something, but at least like I had done something different. I have to however admit that after shaving my legs I no longer felt like blow-drying my hair, and settled for a cup of coffee in the sun rather, but this too was the perfect thing. The eyebrows only got plucked on Sunday, but at least I did put in my contact lenses.
So two happy accidents taught me a few things:
Lamb shanks come in different sizes
You don’t have to have all the ingredients to cook something delicious – I believe that (and I can’t believe that I am saying this), but maybe things do not have to be planned out perfectly to work out beautifully.
If you buy the wrong face wash, try it, it may surprise you. And even it is black goop it may be exactly what you need.
Airdrying your hair while sitting in the sun is much more rewarding than blowdrying them on your bed.
It is okay to take a moment for yourself, even if you feel that there are none.
