One of the FEW things Hubby likes about Winter is my compulsion to bake. (Ya, most of the year the kitchen and I don't stay acquainted.)
Not one to substitute an ingredient, toss in a sprinkle of this or a pinch of that, it's the exactness of these recipes I find comforting. My favorite? An ages old version of banana-nut bread. Modesty aside, family and friends have raved about it ... or pretended to, which is really sweet.
Have you ever heard of a Plantain? I'd not either, until going to live in Florida. Trust me, they are Evil.
Come December, I purchased a sack of "bananas" and set them aside to age. But even after a week they stubbornly remained a canary-p**p yellow.
Hmm, I reckoned to hurry the process via the microwave's "thaw" feature. Nothing.
OK, let's peel and slice. (Note to self: what a strange, thick peel!)
Repeat the thaw cycle, then hit 'em with the mixer ... again, they refused to yield.
Short of slipping a baggie over my boot and stomping them into submission -- I was puzzled ... and peeved.
Tossing remains in the garbage, I abandoned the notion of baking that night.
The next morning, however, I couldn't resist grabbing a survivor to bring to the office. "What do you make of this? Suppose it's a mutant, something of value?"
I caught the look that passed between co-workers; their efforts not to giggle: "That's not a banana. You're holding a plantain!"
Nope I never tasted it, or tried mixing it with other self-respecting food groups. Simply, I was afraid ... very afraid.