I am not particularly fond of bananas. It’s basically a texture thing. They feel weird in my mouth. And they smell funny too. Thus, having offended two of my five senses, bananas are not on the list of my favorite foods. Sometimes I can appreciate a good banana with some peanut butter on it, but that makes it a different food entirely, so that doesn’t count.
One day I came home to discover no fewer than 10 bananas on our kitchen counter. I was rather confused as to how we acquired so many bananas, but had no intention of participating in the consumption of this fruit. Instead I ate an apple. A few days later, as I made my way to the kitchen in search of breakfast, I was greeted by the smell of old bananas. I discovered that our kitchen counter was still home to 8 bananas is varying stages of over-ripe. Clearly it was time for action. My first inclination was to take all 8 blackened fruits and deposit them in the trash can. However, more productive thoughts prevailed and I pulled out my Harry Potter apron and set out to make some banana bread for my visiting teachees. In short order I had enough batter to bake 3 loaves of banana bread. This was perfect because there are three girls that I visit teach. However, I could only locate two bread pans in the cupboard.
As I was greasing these pans and deciding what to do with the rest of the batter I suddenly realized that the pans I was using did not belong to me. This brought a ray of hope to my predicament. I remembered that a few years ago, when I was still living in Provo, I made a goal to learn to make really good bread. As part of that goal I purchased some bread pans. If the pans currently in the cupboard did not belong to me that meant that I had more pans somewhere else. The most likely somewhere else was in the very back corner of the storage closet. I put two loaves of bread in the oven and then went to the closet to begin the excavation process.
After extracting 3 suitcases, a bike rack, and a box of Christmas decorations, I finally happened upon the box labeled “kitchen.” I opened it up to discover some silverware, two blue plastic plates that I do not remember ever owning, a few glasses, and, much to my delight, a bread pan. One pan was just what I needed, but I figured if I was going to release one pan from storage into the kitchen I might as well liberate the set. I emptied the rest of the box in search of the second bread pan. I discovered many cups, some bowls, a cheese grater, and a pitcher, but not a second bread pan. I know that I had two. No one makes just one loaf of bread. I don’t think a recipe exists for a single loaf. It makes no sense to have just one bread pan, and I am certain that I bought two. So I went back to the storage closet. Behind some camping chairs and sleeping bags I found a second box labeled “kitchen.” I unloaded its contents and discovered a glass 9x13 pan, some plates that probably belong to Justin, my favorite dishtowels, and a waffle iron, but no bread pan. I am quite perplexed by this lack of a second pan. It makes absolutely no sense. Where does a bread pan disappear to? I’m not sure, but this baffling mystery remains, to date, unsolved.