No matter how brilliant I consider myself to be, I find my usually-intelligent existence punctuated by spots of utter idiocy.
I went to my aunt’s family’s restaurant in Great Neck, NY to bake my idiot-proof peaches and cream cake. It didn’t turn out so idiot proof because as any scientist would know, you need the same elements in an experiment to produce the same result, and Shoreline, Seattle (where I got this recipe) is not Great Neck, and a large restaurant kitchen scaled for mass production does not necessarily have everything a small home kitchen does.
So, anyway, the cake was baked. We left it to cool in the large walk-in refrigerator and I went back to reading my Terry Pratchett book till it was time to bring Joyce to her piano lesson.
It’s almost 3. Time to go, but where could Uncle Jobie be?
He’s not in the dining section… not in the kitchen… not in the loading area… could he be stuck in the walk-in fridge?