The pesto incident

At work, we do a sandwich which has pesto on it, instead of mayonnaise. Well, actually, it’s pesto mixed with mayonnaise. We only use it on one sandwich, a chicken and avocado combo which is quite popular. If, for whatever reason, we don’t do any of the chicken avocado sandwiches, the pesto mayo doesn’t get used.

I think that is what must have happened the day before The Pesto Incident. The pesto mayo had, I think, developed a little skin on it’s surface inside the bottle.

I was starting work at 11am that day. I wandered in, all casual from my long lie in and the lovely weather. I was wearing a white summery dress, embracing the sunshine. As soon as I entered, though, I could feel there was a bit of a rush on. The person in the kitchen was evidently having a rubbish time of it and they asked me to take over.

I grabbed an apron and got stuck in. The first sandwich was something fairly straight forward, a pastrami and mustard, or something like that. Next up, the chicken avocado number. Great, I love making this sandwich.

Chicken in pan to warm. Grab bread. On chopping board. Put pesto mayo on bread… I squeezed the bottle but no blob of pesto mayo came out. What was wrong? (Remember that little skin it has got from not being used the day before?) I shook it slightly and squeezed again. It felt like there was something hard pushing back against me. I’d show that pesto mayo. Squeeeeeeeeze! Nothing. What is WRONG with it? Both hands this time. Squeeeeee….


I looked up in shock, still holding the pesto bomb in my hands.

It. Was. Everywhere. It had hit both walls either side of the kitchen and found it’s way, miraculously, into the toaster. The bread on the chopping board was barely visible underneath the pesto mountain which covered it. It had gone on the underside of the shelves which held the crockery and even over to the sink (a fair distance away) and on the wall and taps and drying rack over there.

Then I looked down. It was covering the top half of my apron, my lovely white summer dress and my hair. I had gone for a girly down-do that day, a long plait which had been hanging forward over my shoulder at the time of the explosion. It was now covered in pesto mayo. From the elbows up, my dress was covered with large splats.

Ever the pragmatist, I ignored it all and finished up the sandwich. As I put it on a plate and turned around to take it out, my manager walked into the kitchen and looked at me in shock. Then laughed. Then told me to go home and change.

My hair still smelled like pesto all day.

17 responses to this post.

  1. Lovely story, this made me smile early on a Monday morning. There is a line from a famous poem “Children lick their lips at disaster”. I guess some of us are still children at heart.


  2. Any chance you said, “Hey Pesto” (like the magicians do) when your manager walked in? (ha-ha)


  3. Ahh, Laura! My mom had a similar explosion with BBQ sauce once when she was shopping with my sister and me; she made us buy her a new shirt before we could continue going into stores! Lol.


  4. During my first few days working at an international pizza establishment chain, I was asked (or saw the need) to change the beer on tap. I had been told how to do this, probably shown, however, I had not done it myself and was alone here. I rolled out the full keg, took the tap, unhooked it from the empty, and began attaching it o the new full keg. Explosion may not quite be the word, but beer from the top of my head to my waist was. This would have been okay, however, it was early in the day and I had about 7 hours left on my shift, busy, and the place had no spare uniforms. I smelled like beer all day and, to this day, will not drink the stuff.


  5. Oh dear! Little incidents happens. At least it was only pesto though. I fell into something much worse years ago… outside on the street after a dog walked by..


  6. I sometimes wonder if you are Lucille Ball reincarnated.


  7. […] by Laura’s Pesto Incident, I was reminded of a thing that happened to my youngest daughter some years […]


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