My instinctual response to any mention of Mary Berry is to immediately begin to pre-heat my oven in preparation for a bake. So, here I am, in the midst of the excitement of the start of the new season of The Great British Bake Off, staging my dramatic return to baking and blogging.
One of my most long standing hobbies is the careful dipping of things into tea. There are a lot of things worth dipping, but if you are to dip only one thing in your life I would recommend the South African rusk .
What these Banana and Nutella Baklava lack in sophistication they make up for in joy. The little fellas are so delicious and so easy to make that I have chosen to overlook the ugliness of the photos and share this post anyway.
Cape Town really is magnificent at this time of year, the mountain just about sparkles in the soft-lit blue skies- imploring you to put on some sensible shoes and come outside to “seize the day” : to be honest it’s all really a bit of a bother . Some of us would far prefer to be inside watching back-to-back episodes of Project Runway with a bit of Star Trek mixed in (for balance) than dirtying our hems outdoors. But when Cape Town is behaving in this way it’s difficult not to feel guilty about keeping the curtains drawn- even if you are having a perfectly lovely time in the dark.
Peeping into an oven to be met with the vision of an ugly and flopped cake is like suddenly coming face to face with the futility and wretchedness of, well, everything. You see, for the existentially-sensitive, time spent in the production of an ugly cake raises questions best left unasked. Once you consider: “What was the point of all that baking” your are just one fateful leap of the imagination away from the devastation of wondering: “What’s the point of anything?”
If it were not for the aesthetic stream of the orthodontic sciences I would fall much higher on society’s hierarchy of beauty. A set of naturally straight teeth (well, mostly straight) is one of the very few advantages I have in the arena of attractiveness. Or, it would have been if metal, porcelain and pliers could not now be used to fashion a pretty smile out of even the most poorly arranged mouths. What a cheat! Continue reading
What a horror it is to discover that something in your fridge or fruit bowl has, due to your own neglect, been left to spoil. More often than I like, I see my fellow grocery shoppers recklessly buying more fresh produce than they could hope to contend with in the short time they have before it will go bad. It’s a maddening scene. Someone needs to stop these people. I would make it my business to do so, if I didn’t have to hurry home to set about consuming my own purchases in a fervent race against time. To fail in this is to be met with all kinds of unpleasant disruptions: confusing colours, noxious smells and mushy sensations are just a backdrop to the shame and guilt.
The success of this tart, much like a successful living in general, will depend almost entirely on the quality of your cheese and the sweetness of your apples.
Very much unlike life, however, the baking of this tart is a simple endeavour and perfectly suited to the lazy and the cowardly.
Can you believe this thing? It’s monstrously pretty I’m am a tiny bit concerned that I might have used up all my femininity in creating this tower of floral pinkness. Although, this is unlikely given that I am also excitedly considering knitting myself a jersey that looks very much like this vacherin (or perhaps it would make for a sensational hat).
It’s perfect for Mother’s Day, no?
Good recipes, like good sci-fi and fantasy novels, tend to come in a series. Once you fall for a flavour combination it can be difficult to move on. This is recipe is the third instalment in my “Spiced Pear” trilogy (although I expect, in time, there are likely to be prequels and sequels).