The weekend just passed for me for domesticity overload. Think Alice from United States of Tara....as opposed to Chicken. The last two days were completely steeped in domestic duties. Saturated. All that was missing was a pinnie and a rolling pin. I even had the pair of marigolds.
Friday night I was elated with the feel of the weekend stretching out ahead of me, booze (and hangover) free. I love the feel of a Friday afternoon. There is so much promise, so much anticipation in the air. You feel like you can do anything.
So maybe thats why I decided to make a cheesecake. Preperation went well, the cheesecake was bunged into the oven and left for what was meant to be 20 minutes. I went to the bedroom and lay down, planning to feed my latest addiction of Words with Friends, and almost immediately fell asleep.
40 minutes later, I woke up with a jolt, ran out to the oven and stared desolately at what was the remains of what was my heart in a cheesecake. "It'll be alright", I mumbled hopefully and tried to scratch off the burnt parts with a knife, my fingernails, anything.
I'll take this moment to tell you guys I am such an emotional cook. I already attach so much gravitas to the food I eat, that it should be no surprise that I cook with my heart and my emotions also. Its not uncommon to find me in tears over a cake that crumbles, or a stew that was left to simmer at too high a temperature. - Actually it is uncommon. I'm a great cook, borne of necessity and an acceptance of my mothers skills being rubbed off on me, even though I showed more interest in losing my virginity than in cooking when I was a younger. But the few times where my Nigella halo does slip, I turn into Gordon F**king Ramsay. And god help everyone who doesnt atleast take a bite and murmur "Mmmmmmm, yummy. Shame it got burnt. You are still Julia Childs reincarnated."
Apparently I am my own worst critic. But if you arent going to tear your self esteem to shreds when you fail (whether minimally OR miserably), how will you ever get better?
So seeing the charred remains of the cheesecake, my heart sank. I soldiered on, covering it with mango coulis and blueberries, but to no avail. The biscuit base fell apart. The cheese had shrunk to resemble a used condom. I had to admit defeat and I slunk into my room with slumped shoulders and a quiver in my bottom lip. The Monster tried to console me, and assured me he would eat them later, but I wasn't falling for that.
I could see my (previously unknown and only then just conveniently discovered) dreams of being a celebrity chef gurgling down the proverbial drain. I would never soar to the heights of culinary carnality, to be followed around with a film crew whilst revealing my secret to astounding bernaise sauce. I would never have an eponymous restaurant overlooking the twinkling lights of Hong Kong Island. Hell, I couldn't even master something to submit a bake sale at a primary school fundraiser. I was rubbish.
I went to bed that night morose and tired. Even the thought of snu snu made me turn away and curl up in the foetal position. *dodges slap from Nathan*
Saturday morning, I blitzed the overdue laundry, humming as I stuffed the washer full of sheets and the monster's smalls. I thought, "It's such a nice day, I really should make the most of it and hang the washing out on the line!". It didn't even occur to me that this was strange. Normally I would have thought "God that fucking sun is so bright/ where is my powerade/ I'm never drinking again/ shit it's 3pm already?!"
The monster and I barely left the house, so ensconced in the humdrum of housework. With the music blasting and me dancing about the place, it really felt like home....Especially the kitten sleeping out in the garden adding a very Stepford feel to the day.
I felt the baking itch again, so I dusted off an old choc chip cookie recipe and proceeded to fill the house with the most amazing smells ever, while making cookie after cookie, in what I like to call cafe cookie style.
If you feel like shit (and I do almost on a daily basis - thats why I drink - HELLO?) then my rememdy is this - bake. Bake anything. Bread. Muffins. Cupcakes. Your waist line will quiver with equal measures of joy and fear, but your spirits will be lifted regardless. The smell alone should be bottled and sprayed just before a date. "Lucky, you smell positively....edible..."
My cookies were a hit with the Monster, and even giant cat. He nibbled some, and then sauntered away, displaying arsehole, to slump defiantly on some shopping bags and stare at me, accusingly. How dare I sit in his comfy chair? Human infidel. Anyway, I digress.
I spent the rest of the day, reading an old favourite Kathy Lette book. She is the queen of the pun. A Master of Punnilingus. I adore her brain, and razor sharp wit.
Sunday morning I woke up in a great mood. The Monster got ready for work, and then I walked up with him to buy some cat food for the moglets. We'd run out of dry food, and although the cats do enjoy casserole food, their poor little tummies can't digest all that slop, and it comes spurting out their freckle, inevitably on a pile of clean laundry, or our bed. Yep, disgusting little turds.
So it was off to the supermarket where I spent an enjoyable hour or so browsing the aisles and picking up little bits and pieces that I'd been forgetting for a while. Yes, I enjoy grocery shopping. How do I know I want something unless I see it? (Which is probably a reason in itself that I shouldnt be allowed to go shopping.)
Back home to continue the Housewife Howlitzer, interspersed with snoofles from very appreciative and needy kittens. Also I spent most of the day playing Words WithFriends. Yes, I am completely addicted to that game. Yes, I know it's lame. Really, I've just swapped one addiction for another.
On the Monsters return, I was the proud proprietor of a very clean house, with fresh laundry, freshly made bed and a happy disposition. So happy that I thought I might do the undoable and make a pie. A giant steak and mushroom pie, with spinach mash and peas. Third times a charm, right?
Let's just say now that I am still coasting on the success of this pie, and how awesome I am. It was delicious. I am superchef. My restaurant in Hong Kong beckons ever closer. I am the new Naked Chef.
Hear me roar.
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