Ding,
I'm lucky enough to have a very awesome blogger guest posting for me today- the lovely Megan from Writing Out Loud.
As you can clearly see, she's just trying to make me jealous....
I’m not quite sure when this happened – somewhere between Busy Career Girl me and Stay-at-Home-Mum me, I guess.
But my cookbook collection used to look like this:
And now it looks more like this:
Somewhere along the way, I turned into a baking queen (or a cookbook snob, perhaps).
While I used to struggle to even make dinner, now I actually choose to spend time in the kitchen (I know!). Recently, I’ve uncovered the secrets to awesome scones, baked amazingly fluffy and high-rising soufflés, I make my own jam and will whip up a cheesecake or a batch of cookies or brownies on request.
I’ve successfully roasted a duck, made my own gnocchi and went to a class to master the ancient art of pasta-making.
Sponge cake is a new triumph, filled with homemade raspberry jam. The best part of a day was spent baking, prodding, tasting, throwing out, researching and trying again, until I mastered the perfect fluffy sponge. And so help those who do not think to comment on how good it is. They will each be asked at various points during a gathering, followed by the incessant query: ‘Are you sure? You don’t have to just say that, you can be honest with me’. Really, they would be better off just learning to marvel at the wonder of its greatness at the first mouthful. This would save a lot of time and subtle eye rolling.
But seriously, why has this happened? Why do I now talk in the language of scones, sponges and soufflés?
I think I took a trip back in time to the 1950s when I gave birth.