Dear marketing people who claim to know what I want: you don’t. Really. Trust me.
Anyway, I bought some supermarket falafel balls to eat as a snack which we happened not to eat as a snack, so we thought we’d have them for lunch today. We didn’t have any pitta bread so I went to Little Supermarket to buy some (also an avocado, which was on offer, so uncharacteristically ripe). They only had a pack of 5 pittas marked Extra Large. I asked a passing supermarket person “do you have any normal-sized pittas?” and he said “these are the normal size!” “No, they’re extra large,” I said, “see, it’s here on the packet!” “Oh. Well, this is what we’ve got.” (At least that’s honest.)
They were, of course, exactly that size that one is much too small a portion and two just too much. And there were five in the pack, an awkward number now there are only two of us in the house. We had two each anyway, and yes, it was just too much.
Now for the falafel balls– someone thought it a good idea to put eleven of them in the package. Hey, marketing people! That’s a prime number, it can’t be divided any way at all. Except the way I did it: two lots of three and two lots of two and a half. Twelve, now, that’s a convenient number to share: we used to have a dozen lamb sausages when the girls were younger, three for the adults and two for the kids.
The falafel balls seemed to be kind of okay. The taste reminded me a bit of vegetable stock cubes, and there was something in it that disagreed with both of us and left a strange taste on the lips, which made me drink lemonade when I really wanted water because I needed something to take that taste away. Probably celery leaf, come to think of it; there’s a reason that I buy lots of different herbs but never that.