Of sugar and spice

My melee campaign in the barren wasteland of my kitchen produced yet another victory last night.

Feelings of guilt and gratitude (go figure) inspired me to plan a surprise for my over-worked hubby yesterday. I recall him asking me to bake him a chocolate cake a couple weeks back and me blatantly refusing him. (I was at home already, and baking a cake would mean going out to shop for the ingredients. I was tired, okay. Don’t judge me.)

So, into my little car I hopped after work, I went to get the spawnling, and off to the market we rode, in the crimson twilight. Purchases in hand, I set a course for the kitchen and deigned to cook a meal (oven-bake fish and chips; with a side of gem squash) and bake the envisioned cake.

The kid was comfortable enough on the floor for a while. I had bought her new shoes (pink ones) and she was intently attempting to get her teeth into them, attached to her feet as they were. Regardless, she allowed me to get the food into the oven, and start mixing the batter. All went well. Hubby was home earlier than expected, so he was able to feed the kid when she started wailing for her din-dins.

I’d forgotten to add the baking powder, but the self-raising flour mitigated that oversight. The shop had no caramel, so I substituted condensed milk and cherries for decoration.

Dinner was a success.

I plan to one day have a dining room. There will be table settings, runners, tablecloths, napkins. My hopes and dreams are simple ones. I wonder if I’ll be able to incorporate the colours of my wedding: wine red and gold. Maybe some oranges and browns to bring in those warm tones…

Tonight’s meal remains a mystery.