Risky Business

Not one for Downton Abbey, Aunt Aggie strolled in to the kitchen tonight and announced she was going to make some pasties. The radio was tuned into ‘Absolute 80’s and was playing in the background.  I had been reading with my feet up, but pulled up sharply by this announcement.

She dug around for the flour, eggs and so on, corralled the ingredients on the worktop and rolled up her sleeves. I knew I was in for an onslaught.  The last time she waded in to the kitchen with the same intent, the casualties were high, random and widespread.  We found collateral damage for weeks after.  She couldn’t be left alone. Might set her pinny on fire or melt her curlers. The larder begged for mercy and the fridge looked on nervously.  

I put the book down and moved across the room, sidling up casual like and took up a supervisory position.  

She went at it like the clappers and with the oven on, it was like a bakery for the next 15 minutes and the trays of pastry were shovelled in like it was a happy hour at the pizza parlour on a Friday night.  

After 20 minutes the music had moved on and the volume had been turned up. She poured herself a Springbank as she waited for her creations to rise and reach their peak.  Taking a gulp and gazing into the glass, turning it in her hand she said  ‘Nice arrival, maybe a wee bit sherry’  and, after slowly considering the next mouthful added, ‘ and  a surprising  peppery finish with a long nose’....

By the look of it, she’d made some savoury pasties and others, sweet.  No sign of a recipe book.

The first pasties out were intact, good looking and well turned out.. but she had rushed the second batch and they came out five minutes later looking like they had had six rounds with Alien versus Predator.  She shrugged, smiled and turned the oven off.

Pushing her shoulders out and dropping her hands like Christopher Walken in the Fatboy slim video, she turned the radio up to max and invited me to join her as Michael Jackson's ‘Thriller’ belted out and we finished the episode dancing like zombies, seeing ourselves as reflections in the Kitchen Window. Baking is a risky business sometimes.