...bad hair and baking disasters. I'm currently sporting too long hair which has been bleached, all fashionable and ombré like, then soaked in salt water over two weeks at the beach. It now has a texture akin to fairy floss. If I leave it down and someone behind me asks a question, thus necessitating my turning around to answer, it's enough to create a birds nest sized tangle. I've even broken a hair brush on it.
To add to my 2013 woes, I can't seem to get into my baking groove. If you know me at all, you'll know my identity is bound up in a few of key areas. There's the arty farty bit, the Mum bit and the cake bit. If one area is askew it's like a wheel is off my trolley and that's how I'm rolling at the moment. Out of control and knocking things off shelves left right and centre.
But those macarons are so perfect! I hear you utter. Well so they should be. They're ...ummm...(oh the shame)...ahem...they are....a packet mix. The following batch I made from scratch and had the appearance of something which had fallen unceremoniously from the rear of a cow.
Again, I hear your applause. What a cute little grub! He's lovely! Except that he's meant to be a Chinese dragon. But the real baking disgrace is hidden within. Never in the history of ever have I managed to make a successful sponge roll. This little 'grub' is no exception. Oh so lovingly I tended the fluffy, beaten eggs, folding in the precisely measured dry ingredients. I teased the mix into a carefully prepared pan then ever so delicately slid it into an accurately preheated oven. I whipped it out as soon as my oven encouragingly beeped to me. I quickly laid it onto a sugary slip of baking paper and rolled it up in readiness for unrolling once more and filling with cream. Well, the stinking, rotten thing unrolled in great, ugly, disintegrating chunks. So in utter frustration, I slapped it back together and decorated the hell out of it. It tasted fine, but I didn't high five myself.
After an invite to come and have a look-see at the local CWA, with all their history of baking glory, I thought I'd keep it simple and seasonal for my bring a plate contribution. No pressure. So I bunged together a lovely slice, topped with fresh plums from my Grandmother's tree (how very CWA of me).
About an hour before I was due to leave I attempted to plate some perfect little, plum topped squares onto a vintage plate. What I actually did was completely smash the the thing into crummy hunks before swearing, throwing something, then dumping the lot into Tupperware to serve with custard later.
The ensuing, scones (so cliched) I slapped up at the last minute were even worse. This time I wanted to high five myself in the face.
I'd even threatened my Kitchenaid with the leave it on the nature strip treatment, so bad had my kitchen prowess become.
But, wonder upon wonders I came good for Valentine's day. Look at her! Ain't she purdy? A big fat, fudgy, heart shaped chocolate cake covered in fresh berries. Despite feeling like sitting down with my bad hair, a big spoon and eating the whole lot single handedly, I rose above and shared it with the ones I love. Remembering why I love baking in the first place.
Now all I need is a couple of quality hours seated in a whizzy chair, trashy mag in hand at the hairdresser and 2013 will be back on track.
No comments:
Post a Comment