Over to my elf, Bobi (with thanks), who has been hard at it in the workshop, crafting this post:
I am cheerful again. Well, technically, just more cheerful but good enough. My air conditioning has been fixed, I have decluttered a shelf, the girls are on holidays and we are going to the National Gallery for coffee and cake. Life’s simple pleasures.
It’s two weeks until Christmas. You’ve missed the countdown, haven’t you?
Yes, I promise. 🤞
The panic has been ingrained since childhood. Remember the days when things had to be stockpiled based on that the assumption that shops would never open again?
If you haven’t made your Christmas pudding, it’s too late now. That deadline passed three months ago. There was a woman on the radio yesterday talking about a Christmas pudding that she had kept for seven years before it was eaten. I’m guessing that it was 90% alcohol. Not that I am a Christmas pudding lover, or Christmas cake, or anything with dried fruit in it. I have a particular dislike for mince pies. Who dreamt up that monstrosity? Eew and Blah.
I’m not even a fan of the old pav, although I can tolerate it – much too sweet. You may as well inject sugar straight into your bloodstream.
And trifle is just soggy cake. My DD gets particularly bitter and twisted about this one. Her MiL insists on bringing a humongous extra large dish of this, her signature dish, to every single event and then gets offended because the children won’t eat it. She’s not good at reading the room.
I do have a favourite. I love a rhubarb crumble, that perfect blend of sweet and tart. Rhubarb is a highly underrated …. vegetable? …. herb? And proper custard, without rum or whatever alcohol is used by “some people” to destroy the lovely subtle flavour.
This year my contribution will be a spice cake (link here). I just like the sound of it, based on my predilection for a gingerbread house but without any ability to make one. I will pretend it is a bundt: note the sly reference to My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Writing this post has made me hungry. I have just raided the girl’s cupboard and eaten the box of Tiny Teddies. Maybe I’m not that picky but that doesn’t change the fact that dried fruit is disgusting – except for dates, and apricots, and maraschino cherries.