If it ain't frozen or in a can, we ain't interested

This post is especially for my mother in law.

To thank the Marmite purchaser (of post number one, keep up), we have decided to make her a Cornish pasty, and introduce her to the delights of British cuisine. Obvious, don't you think? To this end, I have just come back from Safeway. Among my purchases were some potatoes, onions, and a small swede. When I got to the checkout, the cashier looked at the swede in horror and incomprehension. She held it aloft and said "Turnip, right?"

I panicked and shook my head. It took a while for my mouth to supply the correct answer though as I know Americans don't call them swedes. In the end, I said "Well, I ... call it a ... swede, but you call it ....a...erm...rutabaga?" Phew, thanks brain.

She still looked doubtful, but said "Okay then...a rutabaga," talking slowly like she was talking to a small child indignant about some preposterousness, whilst looking up the code on the vegetable chart. It took a while. I was starting to think that I had called it the wrong thing, but she eventually found it. She stated "you know, I've never seen one of these." Now, this woman wasn't 21 shall we say, she'd been around the block and back.

Cashier: "How d'ya cook it?"
Me, dimly aware of how ridiculous this could get: "Well, you peel it, chop it up and boil it"
Now, didn't I make that sound appetising? I really wanted to sell the humble swede though, (for not the first time in my life, but that story is perhaps for another day) so I uttered words I was about to instantly regret, "but I am using it to make Cornish pasties."

I could have been talking Swahili. The rest of my items sat where they were, ready to be scanned. This woman was going to get to the bottom of this, and she was in no hurry. The bag packer at the end of the till just stared, open-mouthed throughout the whole exchange, and his eyes followed me out of the shop when it was mercifully finished.
[I'll tell you more about bag packers at a later date. I have lots to say on the subject frankly].

Cashier: "What's that?"
Me: (oh gawd, what have I started here) "It's swede, potatoes, meat, and onion wrapped in shortcrust pastry." I am now gesticulating the shape of a pasty with my hands, even silently miming a crimping effect, and failing in any way to explain what one is. A thought struck me that I could talk about the miners, but I thought that may confuse matters further, so luckily I kept that one in check.

Cashier: "So it's like a chicken pot pie?"
Me: "Erm, kind of." I have only a dim idea of what a pot pie is but I know that a Cornish pasty is nothing like a chicken pot pie. Having done a quick Google search, all the recipes I can find are made with pre-made pastry, tinned vegetables and, horror of horrors, canned soup.

Cashier: "Cos, y'know, I am trying to find new things to cook for my son - he's kinda bored of the same old meals."
Me: "Well, I know lots of different things." In print, I am aware of how rude this sounds and not a little condescending, but I assure you, this was not the meaning, or I think the tone in real life.

Cashier: "So, run it by me how you make it then."
Me: "First, you make some shortcut pastry..."
I stop, noticing that the cashier is looking quizzically at me.
Me: "Erm, can you buy frozen pastry here?"
Cashier: "Oh, yeah, sure. It comes in sheets and rises up."
Me: "It that puff pastry? This needs shortcrust. It's...heavier."
I must work on my descriptions.

The cashier's epiphany is visible all over her face, and she exclaims, loudly, unable to hide her disbelief, "you mean, you cook it from scratch?"
Me: Laughing now at her disbelief at such a normal thing to me "yeah, I cook a lot of stuff from scratch!" Then I said, as if this would explain everything away, "I'm from the UK."
Cashier, gleeful: "Oh well, if it ain't frozen or in a can, we ain't interested!"

With that, the scanning of items continued. Her son won't be getting a Cornish pasty for dinner tonight, or any other night come to think of it.

The purpose of my visa is to promote cultural exchange. So, this is what I am giving back today - a message to my cashier friend: tonight, defenestrate your microwave, liberate your oven; you and your son are welcome to dinner, bring a bottle, see you at 8pm. It would be my very, very great pleasure.