A Woman Who Knows...

It has come to my attention that I require a woman who knows.

Most of my close friends are women who know. Even my male friends are, in part, women who know - or at least they are lucky enough to have succesfully convinced a woman who knows that they are viable material for nights on the couch and sweet mutterings. I hate my male friends.

I am competant, dare I say it (I dare, I dare) at many things. Home renovation is not one of them (as evidenced by previous blog post). Fortunately the knocking of holes, fitting of eletrical thingies, banging of nails and hanging of pictures is not a challenge that one comes up against very often.

Quiche I am not competant at. This saddens me. I realise real men don't eat quiche but I like it and I don't care if it makes my wrists fat.

There is a woman who knows who assured me that quiche is easy. But it requires pastry. When I wrenched my trusty Edmonds Cookbook from my pantry I discovered seven different recipes for pastry. I was shocked and appalled to discover that to make one's own pastry requires 'cold hands'.

Lacking a thermometer, I headed to the supermarket where I found a large chunk of ready made pastry that looked like the thigh of a corpse. I also found a replacement set of screwdrivers. They are awesome.

I can remember as a kid my mother rolling pastry. She made it look very easy. However she never tried to roll pastry with an empty wine bottle. The neck of the bottle proved to be a good handle. The bottom, not so much. And proper rolling pins don't come with a label that comes off in little pieces on your pastry. Church Road Pastry anyone?

Transferring the pastry to the pan that was serving as a pastry dish was an activity that made me glad I wasn't in the Big Brother house. My floor was greedily devouring each delicate driblet of goodness that came its way. But eventually all was done and I gently folded it into corners and baked it blind as Edmonds had told me to do and I mixed a $400 block of cheese and a $200 pottle of cream and many other expensive ingredients that other people who don't live in Herne Bay can't afford and poured them onto my half baked pastry and returned my quiche creation to its furnace and I sat with a glass of Church Road Chardonnay to watch my creation become quiche.

And turn it did. A gleeful embarressment of curdled feelings, cheese and cream.

I need a woman who knows.