By Tim Law
It was a scene of complete and utter chaos. There was only one word for a kitchen that was the equivalent of a culinary bombsite, pandemonium. With the last blue ribbon clutched tight in her hand, Mayor Sarah Robbins starred, gob smacked, scanning the Community Centre Kitchen in utter dismay. Maybe she should not have agreed so eagerly to be Chief Judge at the Girl Guide cooking competition that year. Sarah made a mental note to speak frankly with her advisors that evening. Being honest with herself, Sarah never wanted to repeat a day like this one, ever.
The morning had begun well without an iota of a hint to the mayhem in store by the afternoon. The sponges were light and fluffy, morphing magically into lamingtons of pure perfection lightly dusted with desecrated coconut. Expert scones followed swiftly after served up with lavish dollops of freshly whipped cream and homemade jams that captured the heavenly sweetness of summer.
But after this delightful beginning there followed the creative section of the comp. This was the stage of the day when the Guides were able to demonstrate their skill and confidence with the more technical equipment. Sally-Ann and her partner Rochelle caused the initial faux par as they used a high heat frying pan to pop fresh popping corn straight off the cob. By forgetting the giant pan’s lid they managed to launch two white, hot projectiles high into the air ,landing them gracefully into the pot of dark chocolate they had melting on another stove. The remainder of the cob fired without rhyme or reason about the unsuspecting room. Sarah Smith took the brunt of the barrage, knocking the beaters free from her bowl, spraying half mixed chicken livers and hot peppers from her platter dip. As the frying pan continued its staccato barrage the chicken and pepper eruption flew freely into the culinary creations of nearby pair of Guides. All the girls squealed, some with glee and others frustration. There was a moment’s pause before the youngest Guide cried “Food fight!” with poor Mayor Robbins caught in the crossfire.
Now mayonnaise dripped rhythmically from one of the ceiling fans and something cold and sticky ran nastily down the back of the Mayor’s second best dress. It could have been raw egg, custard, cream or juice. Sarah hopped that it was water but knew that was wishful thinking. With narrowed eyes the Mayor scanned the whole room daring someone, anyone to throw another scone. With great skill that comes from practice Sarah then thrust the final prize upon herself.
“The ribbon for patience I award to me!” Sarah announced. Her serious frown then became a smirk as she turned to the most senior Guide to add “My dry cleaning bill however is all yours.”