Toasty warm bed.
It’s my favourite place in the entire house (kitchen included), and especially on the frosty winter mornings we’ve been having of late. But if there’s one thing that will have me humming down the stairs, it’s the promise of breakfast.
A slow breakfast. The type that involves multiple mugs of milky tea and something warm to munch on. The type that you don’t need to get changed out of your flannelette pyjamas for. The type that involves crumpets.
I have so many things that I could write about this honeycomb.
My semi-despair at the never-depleting vat of chestnut honey from which the honeycomb draws its earth, mellow flavour.
The delighted expressions that adorned our faces when the bicarbonate of soda was added to the mixture and golden bubbles abounded.
The Bean’s cheeky chocolate-covered grin as she stuck the pair of chopsticks I’d given to her for dipping with straight into her mouth instead.
It all started with an sms from the Bean.
“Cherlie…” the message began (for that is what she has dubbed me), “can we have Indian for dinner tonight?”
And like that, it hit. The craving for spices. The tang of yoghurt. The tender crunch of a freshly cooked dosai.
But, alas, there was no Indian to be seen in the vicinity of where we were meeting, and the cravings went unanswered.
The May 2010 Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Cat of Little Miss Cupcake. Cat challenged everyone to make a piece montée, or croquembouche, based on recipes from Peter Kump’s Baking School in Manhattan and Nick Malgieri.
You’d think that I would have made one by now, right?
I mean everyone who was anyone whipped out their bandaids and spun toffee around a tower of choux when the masterchef craze hit last year. Surely I would have been amongst them.
Plus I had one for my 21st birthday cake (true story – I still hadn’t adapted to eating “cake” at that stage). I must have been tempted to see if it was really all that hard.
But I hadn’t. And I wasn’t. And in truth, I was scared stiff because toffee & I? We’re only just getting to know each other.
I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not the type to make a big ol’ hoo-hah about pretty.
Flavour? Yes. All the time. And even if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl.
Actually, make that especially if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl. Most of my favourite foods can be described just so.
But then! A revelation!
