It all started with me buying some bananas despite the fact that I don’t like bananas. There are many things I don’t like but when I get bored of available food choices I turn to these products pushed at the very back of my mental grocery shelves; either because too much time has passed since the last time I had them and I have forgotten what exactly it was I did not like about them, or because I imagine that in the meantime I have miraculously started liking them. So I do buy that food but the moment I pay for it at the checkout and leave the shop I know I won’t enjoy it. Thus, on my way home I try to come up with a way to best use what I have just bought and what I don’t actually like. It is barely surprising that my life choices undergo the same pattern. Doing one and the same thing over and over again, forgetting what it resulted to the first time (or the second and the third) and even hoping it to result to something else. Maybe this sounds familiar to you. It did to me so I Googled it and it turned out this was the definition Einstein gave to insanity – doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Well, I myself, call this eternal optimism. I will let you meditate on that and will go back to the bananas. Luckily for my sanity and optimism, the getting-the-same-results banana spell was broken. I found a way to like them.
I typed bananas and oats (as this is something I am addicted to lately) and Google, my best friend these days, suggested me I make an oatmeal banana bread. Here is what I took out of the oven an hour later.
I went through five or six recipes and picked one which in the course of cooking quite predictably underwent a complete change. I used more oats than flour and added raisins and considerable amount of hazelnuts. All that was left from the bananas was a thick puree that later gave a sweet taste to the bread and together with the cinnamon even sweeter smell in the air. The final product was just as I had hoped it to be – soft bread texture and crunchy hazelnuts. Sitting there in the warm kitchen, savouring this moment with all my senses, I couldn’t help but feel the absence of another human being. But the reason for that was hard to admit, even to myself. Was it because I was overtaken by the selfish urge to show off this succulent piece of heaven or by a generosity wave to simply share this moment of heaven. Both of them seemed equally scary and sad. I had to find out, so five minutes later I was five floors below my flat, standing in front of my neighbour’s door with a plate in my hand. I realised I was saved this time. I simply had the need to share my happiness – to surprise someone, offering them a piece of this gourmet pleasure. I got back home happy, leaving my neighbour equally so.