8 May 2012
Oh, we're shall I begin? Whilst baking for many is a therapeutic pass-time for me it brings nothing but horrors and I never learn. Pour example, over Easter I baked St. Clement's cupcakes with my three year old cousin, possessor of a ginger afro-esque do. All was going swimmingly until said cousin decided to take a peek at the icing swirling in the Kenwood when lo and behold her Fanta locks became entangled. You can guess how it ended. With scissors.
And yet the lesson was not heeded and so tonight I ventured sheepishly into the kitchen. Yet again all was going well until, whilst basking happily in the oven, my darlings became Siamese twins, Siamese triplets, Siamese quadruplets! Taking the form of whatever mutation they fancied. 'Oh non!' You cry. 'Oui oui.' says I. Mais non, ça n'est pas fini. There was a decided shortage of icing sugar for frosting, my crystallised cherry blossoms got stuck to their tray (yes, I am the sort of girl who tries to make crystallised cherry blossoms) AND as soon as Mother Goose was cued to enter the glass of water with the palette knife bathing in a murky mix of water, sugar and butter (supposedly for easy spreading. It's no easier than catching a greased pig.) tumbled to its side, drenching le cuisine et moi and sending the palette knife flying. Oh, mon Dieu! Never again.
My French Farce Of A Baking Expedition • Opuss № I