Day 71
Having spent a couple of days where everything I made was rubbish and the more I tried to fix it the worse it got, I have now spent a day doing the same with my cooking. There are obviously some weeks when I should not attempt anything more complicated than de-fluffing my navel.
Allow me to elucidate. My book group is meeting tonight and it's my turn to host it. Being in an impecunious space right now, it made sense to use up what was already in the house rather than go out and buy nibbles and goodies. A while back Steve got a yen to try making biscuits and bought lots of stuff for it, much of which is still there. Aha! I thought - I'll make cookies for my group, how hard can it be?
The answer, apparently is, harder than I thought. I'm sure some people are blessed with a deft and delicate touch when it comes to all things of a pastry or confectionery nature, but I am clearly not one of them. My first batch of biscuits (choc chip and walnut, yum yum) spread all over the place, burning at the edges while still liquid in the middle, looking like steam-rollered jellyfish with a bad bottle tan.
My second batch (lemon Shrewsbury biscuits) were even worse - insipid and oddly shaped, far too sweet, and somehow divorced from any lemon flavour. Decided on icing as a way to perk them up a bit. The book we are discussing was Hilary Mantel's 'Beyond black', which is all about a clairvoyant, and I thought I could call them Ectoplasm cookies. The icing sugar Steve bought looked white until you mixed it up whereupon it turned a nasty, phlegm-like colour, because it was unrefined icing sugar (did I look at the box? No, I did not).
But you know how when you're really tired, and things have been going steadily wrong to the point where your brain has frozen, and you just go and do something stupid anyway? Well, I carried on and iced a few, I have no idea why. Steve came in and looked at them and asked why I'd got Sam to gob on all of my biscuits. I bravely suggested that they tasted good despite appearances, but Sam shook his head sadly after trying one. Oh well.
I made a Victoria sponge. You can't go wrong with a Victoria sponge, I thought. It looked ok to me but I have just gone to take it out of it's tin and it seems to have covered itself in sweat. Cake sweat! Where did that come from! I know it was properly cooled when I put it away, so I can only conclude that the damp layer is a sort of spongy expression of despair, brought on by the pressure of my expectations of it after the disastrous cookies.
Diversionary tactics are now called for. The room must be atmospheric, fitting the mood of the book, and setting the scene properly. Have printed out several Ouija boards to use as placemats, and will scatter the table with Rune stones and crystals. Had a rummage and found a skull on Sam's bedroom floor (naturally), and have pinned a 'ghostly' leering face inside my tumble dryer, peeping out. This represents Morris, the clairvoyant's repellent spirit guide. Also stuffed a pink rubber glove and fashioned it into a rude gesture to complete the 'Morris' effect.
Who's going to notice snotty biscuits now, ha ha?
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