Week 3: Union Jack surprise cake + bonus aussie flag pav!

It's been a bumper week in the cake zone, in honor of two very special events - first up, I got my UK citizenship on Friday!! Wow, that's been a long time in the making. I'll drink to that:



Secondly, we had a house-warming BBQ on the weekend, for which London put on the most spectacularly beautiful weekend of the year (possibly of the last 7 years). Our guests and I were the awe-struck recipients of not one, but TWO beautifully decorated dessert stuffs.

Aussie Flag Pav

*Note: my boyfriend wasn't happy with this recipe and took a couple of attempts, and he never managed to get the egg whites to the "stiff peaks" stage - he literally had to pour the mixture onto a baking tray. However, it tasted absolutely amazing and had a lovely marshmallowy centre, so it was a success in my book. I've tweaked the recipe so that you whisk the egg whites before adding the sugar, and replaced the cornflour with custard powder. If anyone tries it, let me know how it goes!

8 large egg whites (at room temperature)
pinch salt
350g caster sugar
2 tsps custard powder
pinch of cream of tartar
1 tsp white wine vinegar
4 drops vanilla essence
300ml double cream, firmly whipped
Strawberries and blueberries

Preheat the oven to 180c. Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper. Whisk the egg whites in a clean bowl until soft peaks form (much easier with an electric whisk). Continue beating while adding the sugar and pinch of salt until stiff and shiny. Sprinkle over the custard powder, cream of tartar, vinegar and vanilla essence and fold in gently with a metal spoon.

Place the egg white mix onto the paper in whatever shape you desire, smoothing the edges. Place in the oven and immediately reduce the heat to 150C/300F/Gas 2 and cook for 1¼ hours. Turn off the oven, leave the door slightly ajar and allow to cool completely. Transfer your pav onto a plate, then pile on the cream and dress with the fruit.

Look: ***** A-mazing. Pavlova always looks impressive, but the Australia flag made out of blueberries and strawberries made it extra special.
Taste: ***** Gorgeous. Light, crunchy outer with soft marshmallow in the middle. And you can't go far wrong with whipped cream and berries.
Texture: **** Perfect, as far as I'm concerned - but I'm not giving it 5 stars because the chef wasn't 100% happy with it.

Union Jack surprise cake (can you guess what the secret ingredient is yet?!)

175g sugar
175g butter
3 eggs
200g flour
a tin of tomato soup
spice/cinnamon to taste
some blueberries

For the topping:
Crème fraiche with some sugar mixed in
Strawberries and blueberries

Cream butter and sugar together. Add the eggs, beating in one at a time. Fold in the remaining ingredients until mixed well and pour into a cake tin. Bake at 180c for about 40 mins, or until the top springs back when pressed. This is quite a dense cake, so the skewer test doesn't work so well!

Decorate with the crème fraiche and berries. Union Jack optional.

Look: ***** Very pretty round cake with crème fraiche all over and union jack decoration on top.
Taste: *** Pretty different. None of us guessed tomato, but as soon as it was revealed, you could recognise the unusual flavour! I wasn't 100% convinced, but points for adventurousness.
Texture: *** Dense and fudgey in the middle.

Bonus points: 3: for making both cakes on theme; taking extra time to decorate them beautifully; and using an unexpected ingredient that Herr Heston Himself would approve of.

Melbourne Dreaming turns 4!

Four big years, people! I'm finally feeling the thaw after a Winter that well and truly beat my ass down, down, down.

Spring is finally here. Happy days.

Special Guest Recipe: Hot cross bun bread & butter pudding

I can't quite believe I was sunning myself in 36 degree weather mere weeks ago. The tan has yet to fade, but I've already slumped agreeably into my UK Winter diet - the one that consists of eating fatty foods pretty much constantly while gazing out at the grey world through a rain-splattered window. And before you raise your eyebrows at me doing the opposite of what most people are doing in January, I'm eating more in order to fatten myself up! So I don't die of cold! Besides, detoxing is a ridiculous waste of time. It's science, see?

Someone made me this improvised pudding last night. It was so good - fluffy and warming and delicious, and so easy even a big idiot could make it ;)

600ml milk
2 eggs
hot cross buns - 4 to 6, depending on size
butter/margarine for spreading
60g brown sugar
handful of sultanas
a few drops of vanilla extract
cinnamon/nutmeg to taste

Pre-heat the oven to 180 celcius. Slice the buns through the middle (ie. into top and bottoms), then butter lavishly and cut the pieces diagonally into triangles. Beat the eggs and milk together, then add the vanilla. Line a deep baking dish with a single layer of the hot cross bun pieces, sprinkle with some of the sugar and a little of the spices, then repeat until you run out of pieces. Pour the egg/milk mix over the top and bake covered in the oven for an hour, removing the lid for the last 15 minutes.

All for the cause, people. There are still several long months of Winter to go, after all.

Layered like lasagne

Boxing Day AM: I am attending a BBQ on the Yarra in honour of Middle Bro's 30th birthday, enjoying the hot, hot rays of sunshine on the last day of my holiday.

Boxing Day PM: While lying in the park with a friend as the sun sinks behind palm trees, I discover that the backs of my arms are pink and tender, and I have acquired some really quite impressive sandal marks on the tops of my feet. Never have I been so delighted to be sunburnt. If nothing else it will remind me of the sun as I return to bleak mid-Winter London.

Two days later: I land at Heathrow amid a flurry of the usual doomsday Winter headlines: "ARCTIC WINTER", "TRANSPORT CHAOS" etc. etc., which I ignore in much the same way I ignore the "HEATWAVE", "TRANSPORT CHAOS" headlines that pop up every time the mercury hits a sweltering 28 degrees in the Summer. The British media love nothing more than exaggerating the effects of any weather that differs from "fine and mild" (unless it's gleefully reporting on drunk young celebs showing their undies).

This time, however, it turns out to be slightly closer to the truth than usual.

I have completely forgotten how to dress for this weather, as I seem to do every year. It's like childbirth, I guess, in that we are wired to forget the pain so that we don't all move to the Bahamas (and stop reproducing).

A few days after I get back, I cycle to work in an extra vest and big Winter coat, with just one layer of tights under a miniskirt. They're wool, I tell myself, it'll be fine. Except that it's not. The wind wooshes up my coat sleeves, down my neck, straight through my wool tights, and assaults my exposed face. I'm stunned by how cold it is. It is literally breath-taking. A truck driver stopped at the lights yells "LEGGGGS!" out of his window at me, which would make me smile wryly under normal circumstances (it does seem a fairly polite observation, and is to the point without being smutty or using rude words), but my face feels like it's carved of ice, and the few brain cells that aren't frozen solid are concentrating very hard on my survival, which depends on me reaching the office before hypothermia sets in.

Must keep moving. Must ignore pain in forehead and chin. Must get to office.

By the time I get there, I am rigid with cold, absolutely frozen to the bone, and my face is bright red. I feel like a big Australian fool.

So I have retired the bike for now. The streets are treacherous, especially the back streets which haven't been gritted and are covered in the Invisible Black Ice of Death.

But I think I'm learning to outsmart that grinning idiot Jack Frost. I have taken to wearing 2 vests under my work top, and a fleece under my coat. Six layers in total, plus various woolen accessories for exposed bits. I'm eating twice as much as in the Summer, strictly for the purposes of building up a prudent layer of insulation, you understand.

Pass me the After Eights, will you? And that leftover Christmas cake while you're at it. Don't be shy with the brandy butter.

Rediscovering the spark

Things guaranteed to bring a little joy into your life:

- Sparklers! Electricity on a stick. Brilliant.
- Snow and all the fun that comes with it - snowmen, snowball fights, big fat flakes drifting downwards, crunching through a pristine playground of the stuff.
- Wall-e. What a charming film. I think I am a little in love with a nerdy robot.
- Lemon and ginger dark chocolate. Oh yeah!
- Dancing, and not the usual self-consciously cool kind. Who's coming barn-dancing with me? Anyone? Anyone...?

That's it for now... but I would love to hear your suggestions!

The January Slumps

Every January since I arrived here in London, they print the same article in all the papers about how crap this time of year is: a time of failed resolutions, bleak days, break ups and bad moods. What is left of the Christmas spirit is lying in the gutter waiting to be picked up by the local Council. An atmosphere of heavy gloom hangs over the city, as though gravity's pull has become stronger, turning down people's mouths and dragging their shoulders towards the pavement.

Now some utter nobody at Cardiff Uni has come up with a "forumula" to prove The True Shitness of January (this seems to be the latest media spin on making something completely undefinable sound more scientific): 1/8W+(D-d) 3/8xTQ MxNA

Where:

W = Weather
D = Debt
d = Money due in January pay
T = Time since Christmas
Q = Time since failed quit attempt
M = General motivational levels
NA = The need to take action

Well I can tell you now, Mr. "Part time tutor at Cardiff University" (it doesn't get more reputable than that), my M are at an all time low, the NA becomes more pressing as each day of non-action slips by, and the D isn't worth thinking about.

On the upside, the W has been pretty good, actually - there has been no real cold snap and I have been breaking into a sweat on the bike ride to work.

But truly, this year more than any other that I remember over here, I can appreciate what it is like to be deep in the January Slumps. Each day feels like an uphill struggle, and my creativity has taken a nose dive.

I got those January Slumps reeeeal bad.

Summer...summer..summAUTUMN!

Wow, that was the quickest transition between seasons ever.

Sunday: Swimming outdoors at the Ladies Bathing Pond in Hampstead Heath, enjoying the surprisingly mild late-afternoon air and the odd bursts of blissfully warm sunshine through the clouds. Wearing flip flops. Eating ice-cream. (probably only about 23 degrees, but this is London after all, and I feel obliged to make the most of any 20+ weather).

Monday: Wake up to FREEZING COLD MORNING. Jack Frost giggles maniacally as he tip-toes around homes in London, blowing blasts of ice-cold air into the gaps in people's beds. Didn't think to take a coat to work; after all, I was swimming at the heath yesterday! In a bikini! But I seriously regret that when I see that London has collectively brought out their Proper Winter Coats (I obviously didn't get that memo). Once again, the streets of London are clad in shades of Black, Grey, Bland, Khaki and Boring.

Belatedly, my workplace has scheduled the "Summer Social" for this Thursday, with a Caribbean theme. Timely, I don't think. But it will be one last chance to drag out the colourful Summer dresses and pretend, for one blissful night, that we are in the tropics. I am planning to wear my yellow sun dress with the purple tights I bought for Prince.

Not Prince, The Man, mind you - Prince, the Stadium Spectacular. The little man in the white suit funked. He grooved. He played his git-ar with alarming sensuality. His twin dancers bent every which way. His female drummer, grimacing in her zebra stripe outfit, scared me a little. The bogans in the audience scared me a lot.

It was fantastic!

Celebrating the Annual Shedding of the Winter Coats Festival (no sacrifice required)

Yes, yes, yes, the weather has been gorgeous, blah-dy-blah-dy-blah. It is rather funny to watch everyone come out of their dingy winter cocoons and emerge, be-sunglassed, into the light, all fresh and colourful and renewed.

Odd thing: my boyfriend and I were horsing around in a clear space in the woods (he was practising some wu-style Tai Chi, very Crouching Tiger) - when we were approached by a man in a long black coat, asking: "Excuse me, is this the pagan gathering?".

A beat of silence in the forest, broken only by the hammering of a distant woodpecker.

Uhh, no.. but I would be interested to know of any future pagan rituals going on in my backyard, High Druid Priest of the Forest Worshippers.

Day dreaming

My boyfriend and I both took the day off today, to hang out together. Why would we do that, you ask? Because lord knows we hardly see each other, what with us living together, being the anti-social homebodies we are, and having no responsibilities apart from getting to work 5 days a week. Well, Just Because, that's why.

So I went on my usual day-off walk through the woods, and because there was a light sprinkling of rain (the only type they seem to get here in London), there was hardly a soul about. It felt so luxurious to have all that space to myself, inhaling the smell of sodden earth, with the raindrops making chandeliers of the branches. I was basking in the peace and quiet that only a true wanna-be hermit can fully appreciate. Space is at such a premium here in London, and there are so many people crammed into this city, that it does feel strangely like a holiday when you manage to find a space to yourself.

I guess this is what parents (well, mums) mean when they rave about having just the tiniest smidgeon of space and privacy while ensconed in the whirlwind of raising kids, huh? You know, those people who are grateful just to be able to go to the loo in peace?

*sigh*

Bryter Later

Isn't it funny how the weather can affect your mood so much? I have been feeling generally crapulous for the past 10 days or so, but today I can't help marvelling at the way the sunlight filters through the bare branches of the woods and turns the carpet of dusty green ivy leaves to gold; and how perfect and fluffy the clouds are against a sky so brilliant blue, it must have been freshly painted this morning.

Walking back from the library today (yes, I am a nerd! Why thank you!), I came across some kind of squirrel convention, with at least 10 of the critters running rampant around a particular fallen tree trunk. Usually these little grey fellas get all "eek! a human! run away!" when you walk within 10 metres of them, but these squirrels were obviously in the middle of some deeply important squirrel business, because they didn't pay me the slightest bit of attention. They just got on with the urgent task of chasing each other around tree trunks and skittering amongst the dead leaves.

It got me to thinking - you know, London would be a perfectly lovely place to live if it wasn't for all the other people crammed in here. The weather is really fine for someone who doesn't like the baking heat of an Australian Summer. The insects are benign to the point of insignificance, compared with the constant annoyance of flies and mosquitoes in Oz. And the countryside here is undeniably pretty. I don't think you could apply that particular word to anything about my home country (Rosellas? Kangaroo Paw flowers? Hats at the Melbourne Cup? Pink possum noses?). Dramatic, stunning, beautiful, yes - pretty, no.

There is something to be said about the charms of going for a walk through the Wintry woods, with your hands in your pockets and a scarf about your neck, and coming home all pink-cheeked and fresh. In an ideal world, you would have some freshly baked scones with jam and clotted cream waiting for you. I guess I will have to make do with yet more Mars Bar slice.

Cursing my lack of moon boots, toboggan and understanding clients

More snow in London, if you didn't hear already... loads this time! Proper snow, like. It was about 4 inches deep, enough for your feet to sink into with a satisfying crunch, leaving perfect platform-boot style footprints behind. After feverishly tossing up whether I could get away with pulling a "snow day", I decided I had no real excuse for not showing up to work, besides getting all tourist-y at the sight of the white stuff.

My street:

However, The Boyfriend and I took our time walking the long way to the tube station, via the woods...

...where the groundskeeper and his family live in this ridiculously cute house. And where Peter Rabbit frequents the vegetable patch and Enid Blyton comes calling for tea.

Snow glorious snow

It *snowed* last night! I didn't notice when I blearily cracked open the curtain a fraction in the bedroom, but when I pulled up the blinds in the kitchen, I was greeted with the most magnificent sight since Lucy went snooping around the back of the wardrobe and stumbled across Narnia.

Click on the images to see them a bit bigger.

Sway my way

Woooooooo. Did I mention that I work on the 23rd floor of a building? A really tall building in the middle of one of the lowest-rise cities in the world? I only mention it because today the vertical blinds were swaying in a most sickening way. The pull-cord for the light was making lazy circles in the bathroom. If you stand still or sit on a fixed seat (ie. the toilet), you can actually feel the building swaying back and forth underneath your feet/butt. Quease-making.

In other extremely specific news, I am a very Bad Daughter. I forgot to call my Dad on his birthday recently (I was going to phone from work! then I got tied up! then it was too late! etc. etc). Sorry, Pops. When I find a card to match the funniness of "Rupert", I will send it on to you post haste. Meanwhile I will curse the time difference by shaking my fist at the moon. Sorry, I have been experiencing too much of that Boosh-love lately.

Mildest Winter Ever

Global warming is happening, people. I know there are still some idiots persons out there who continue to deny that the earth is heating up, persons who by sheer unrelated coincidence happen to sell 4x4's or crude oil or sun-loungers for a living, but there is no disputing the fact that every Winter I have spent in the UK has been warmer than the last. This one in particular has been a breeze - a light, mild breeze at that. A breeze which barely necessitates the addition of a scarf, let alone the coat + fleecy + multi-layered-undergarments combo that the first Winter required.

The first Winter I spent here, skirts were out of the question. Even light trousers were a no-go. Knee-high socks underneath the trousers were not uncommon. It's not just me; people who have lived here all their lives comment on how much colder it used to be. We had a wasp in our kitchen last night - a WASP! - in what is supposed to be the dead of Winter.

And I think that is what concerns me the most, the fact that insects and animals are starting to get confused and behave strangely: coming out of hibernation early and finding that their usual food source is unavailable; or migrating further north than they should because the water temperature is too warm. Once we manage to stuff up that ever-so delicate balance of life on this planet, we are all screwed.

Most of all, I really, REALLY don't want to be watching re-runs of Planet Earth with my under-developed, brittle-boned albino grandchildren, telling them that yes, that snow leopard really did exist in Grandma's lifetime; but that we didn't look after our beautiful planet and that is why we all have to live in oxygen pods on Mars now. And drink recycled urine.

Brrr!

I know in my last post I was despairing about global warming, but BRRR! It has been freezing here the last few nights! Our crappy old boiler was on the fritz again on the weekend, so we survived for 3 days and nights with no hot water and no heat. It was like camping, but even less fun, because at least with camping there is hot(ish) water to be had at the communal showers. At least camping, you are semi-warm for 10 minutes out of the day.

I think our gas bill is going to implode this Winter, because we are just beginning to become aware of the utter igloo-like freezingness of our top floor flat. I never understood that all the houses in London are huddled together and piled on top of one another - eureka! - in order to share as much communal heat as possible.

The bedroom and bathroom at one side of the flat are especially cold. The bathroom floor is particularly bracing first thing in the morning - "like an ice-rink" in the immortal words of the Boyfriend. The bed itself has become uncomfortably tomb-like, so that laying your head on the stone-cold pillow at night is eerily similar to laying your head on a marble slab. I feel like there should be an epitaph etched into the bedhead above us, saying "Here lie two poor souls who froze to death before their time".

I am currently petitioning our landlady for a new boiler. We already have plastic sheeting over the windows and vents. Plastic sheeting stuck up with sticky-tape. I would hate to use the phrase "trading on former glories", but it must said that the proud British Empire is certainly not what it used to be.

Good things, bad things, and slightly catastrophic things

Good things: Four excellent new CD's on their way to my mailbox (splurge-alert), visit home immiment, Christmas only 9 weeks away. Mars Bar slice goes down a treat at work.
Bad things: The world is most likely going to be in serious meltdown by the time my (future) grandchildren have inherited it. If it isn't already. Is anyone else scared?