Ah, the Great British Bake Off.
I remember a time when I would’ve openly scoffed at the idea of being so enthralled by a show where people made cake. I mean, where’s the fun in that? It’s not like I could eat the cake. Of course, this was also during the years when I was utterly uninspired by cooking. Convenience was my friend and stir fry was as exciting as my repertoire got.
Now, as an older but no more wiser woman, I am hooked by its twee British charm. I quickly adopt my favourite baker and Marvel at their creations. So much so that this year, I decided to bake along with the show.
It started so well.
Week one: Jaffa Drizzle Cake.
Armed with the required ingredients (an orange, some flour, butter, sugar and cohoclate), I cleared a space and began to bake.
Incident 1: discovering you don’t own a large enough bowl to make cake mix in.
Incident 2: realising that “zesting an orange” is incredibly time consuming and grating your fingers really hurts.
Incident 3: eating too much cake mix/drizzle mix/melted chocolate and feeling very sick.
The end result:
Gaze upon its drizzled awesomeness but remember how pride comes before a fall…
Week 2: Biscuits
Dear god. How wrong this went. There were several factors working against me and I ended up making 2 batches from 2 different recipes.
Incident 1: In an attempt to cut corners, and running late from an exercise class, my first attempt used only 3 ingredients – peanut butter, sugar and an egg. It was terrible.
Incident 2: Seeing how badly the first batch turned out, I tried a different recipe. It was 10pm. I was tired. I was stressed. The second batch taste of nothing. Just.. nothing.
The end result:
The left hand side is the 3 ingredient, sticky almost brittle mess. The right is the tasteless but texture-perfect failure. I was not built to make biscuits.
Next week: Bread.
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