Baking Crazy

I acted out of character yesterday.  I had the urge to bake.  Not any old urge, like the urge to go to the toilet or to eat a Malteser, or to go to the toilet while eating a Malteser; but an urge like my guts will burst if I don’t get to the bathroom on time; like I must empty that box of Maltesers right now before someone comes in and wants one.  It was quite frightening.

I don’t bake.  I barely cook.  I muddle along as best I can and hope not to poison anyone.  Sometimes, I don’t.  So what brought this new and terrifying desire upon me?  Grocery shopping.

Life is only worth living if we have the occasional treat; by which I mean that we must have snacky things to eat in the house at all times, or the family will at last realise they are running on empty.  We haven’t done a great deal of shopping lately and I needed to stock up on staples.  Once I’d bought all the staples, however, there was nothing left for cakes.  You could misquote Marie Antoinette and say, ‘Let them eat bread!’ but I’m trying to cut back on stodgy food – cakes aren’t ‘food’ but ‘snacks’, so it’s not cheating.

Thus, I decided to make my own.  The itch had been there for a while, if I’m honest; ever since Viv told me her secret: weigh the eggs; make the dry ingredients the same weight; add the flour last and stop mixing.  Viv is a genius.  Usually, my cakes look like this, if I’m lucky: _ _ _ _ _ .

But not with Viv on the case: dear old Viv, wonderful Viv, knows how to bake Viv, glad I listened to her Viv, I love Viv Viv, genius Viv:

You should be looking at the ones at the back; the ones at the front are yet to go in the oven. 

I hung on to Tory Boy’s school recipe booklets, you see, and yesterday I went through them, selecting several recipes to try.  I didn’t just bake one thing: I baked for hours and hours and hours.  At one point the Hub walked into the kitchen and asked me who I was.  It was that phenomenon where you meet someone in the street and you know you know them but it’s not where you usually meet them and you can’t place them until you picture them with a milk float or a lollipop and yellow coat or a sack full of post.

Here’s the next batch:

I didn’t follow Viv’s instructions for the cakes at the front, and it shows.  I have an excuse, however: the recipe said ‘buns’ not ‘cakes’.  I didn’t know they were the same thing.  I suppose I should have guessed when the ingredients were exactly the same, but I was high on the excitement of my first batch. 

The glass dish at the back holds the leftover mixture from Viv’s cakes.  I bunged in some tinned peaches and made a peach cake.  How cool am I?

Then I was left with half a tin of peaches – no problem!  I had a recipe for apple crunchy top so I could halve the topping and make two puddings.  One snag: not enough topping.  No problem!  I made up another batch.  How double cool am I?

While they were baking I made up a variation cake mix from TB’s booklets, still not making the connection that I needed to about the egg weighing thing.  I was too high on my double cool new baking skills to do any thinking.

Then I thought, ‘I’m good enough to bake scones.  Yes I am.  I know I am.’  Turns out I’m not.  They were as flat as all the other cakes that didn’t obey Viv.  But you know what?  Who cares?  I baked.  And, what’s crazy: I enjoyed it.

Back Row: peach cake/apple crunchy top/peach crunchy top/variation cake mix, or flatasapancake for short.

Front Row: Viv’s stupendous cakes/all in one buns/what’s laughingly known as ‘scones’.

The scone downstage left is the one made from all the mushed up left over mix.  Perhaps I’ll make them all from mushed up left over mix next time.

Yes, there will be a next time.

Where’s my lollipop?

*

*