Blue Bowls and Banana Bread

Disclaimer: If my posts don't make any sense, it is because my thoughts have also ceased to make any sense.

Josie is hanging out with me tonight. Andrew is working until midnight so I would be otherwise all alone. Mom is working late, Patrick is working late, and Dad is taking a night class (Josie thinks), so she would be otherwise all alone. Instead we're being alone together.

So, we made banana bread. This seems to be something that I make in my house a lot. The reason why is simple. I can't eat bananas fast enough. Really, it's true. I like my bananas before they are fully ripe. They can't be completely green, but if they are all the way yellow I can't stand to eat them. So, I end up freezing a lot of bananas to make into bread. Our freezer is a little bit full, so I figured that I could use up the half dozen bananas that have been accumulating over the winter and turn them into something scrumptious.


First I had to choose a bowl, which was easy. I always use a blue bowl to mix things. I have a big one for making big things, and a small one for mixing small ones. This is a tradition carried over from where I really learned how to cook on my own: Russia.

In Russia, at our "hang out" apartment (aka: head teacher's apartment), we had a blue Tupperware bowl. And a pot. And a lid that didn't fit the pot. And some muffin tins. A can opener that didn't open anything very well at all. 7 plastic plates that matched. 1 glass plate that didn't match anything, and that I later smashed into a billion pieces on a random sidewalk (oops!). Random utensils. Some cups. And that was about it. Perhaps we had a little bit more, as you can see from the picture, but I really am holding the oven door open because it only had one hinge.

Our Kitchen in Russia

(that's the extent of it--the fridge is about a foot behind me)

My friend, Emily, and I would make all sorts of things in that kitchen. I'm not really sure how because we didn't have a lot to work with and neither one of us had had any experience with gas stoves...Anyway, we used the blue mixing bowl for virtually everything we made. You can see it in the picture. It's on the window sill that served as our one and only cupboard, on the back right-hand side.

When Emily got married, I gave her a blue bowl so that she could still cook. When I got married, she returned the favor and gave me the big blue bowl that Josie is using. And, when we moved to Jordan and left our big blue bowl behind and had nothing in which to mix anything...we went to our nearest Safeway and bought a blue mixing bowl, which I insisted we take home with us (that's our small blue mixing bowl).

*****

After choosing a bowl, I had to choose a recipe to semi-follow, which proved more difficult since I can never remember which recipes I've tried and whether or not I liked them. We finally settled on a recipe and started mixing away. Our recipe didn't call for walnuts, apples, cinnamon, or nutmeg, but we put those ingredients in anyway.

Yummy!

The bread isn't done yet, but Josie tasted the batter. "Ummmm..." she said, "Tastes like bananas." Sarcastically, I replied, "Oh, what a surprise! I wonder why they call it banana bread if it tastes like bananas." To which Josie replied, "You know greasy people? Are they always called Nick?"

I'm trying to teach her Grice's Maxim of Relevance, which is stated rather simply: "Be relevant." Her statement was not relevant. I told her so. "Josie," I said, "I have no idea what you're talking about. That has nothing to do with banana bread."

Apparently, although it had nothing to do with banana bread, it did have something to do with why we call things by certain names, which is kind of what we were talking about, kind of. I guess I brought it up.

"You know," she insisted, although I didn't, "Greasy people. Like...I don't know what to call them, but they're always called Nick."

"I'm going to need a bit more than that. What are "greasy" people?"

She sighed heavily, "I told you! I don't know what to call them. Greasy people. Grecians....greekites...people from Greece."

"Oh," I said, "I don't think they're all named Nick."

"But a lot. In My Big Fat Greek Wedding, all the cousins are named 'Nick' or 'Nicki,' and in lots of other movies, too."

"Sure," I said, "A lot of them are named Nick. I don't know how many, but some are, apparently."

At least that conversation is over. It was a little awkward.