Battle scars

My mum makes fantastic cakes. Sticky crunchy top lemon drizzle, got-to-have another piece coffee and walnut, chocolate with buttercream and chocolate buttons.  Being of a similar square, enthusiastic food eating body design, dad and I can’t resist (seconds)

I didn’t inherit the family cake “genes”, I’ve filled my freezer with disaster trifle sponge offerings, collapsed wonky lopsided, undercooked (blame the oven) disasters. My church homegroup/bible study group has a baking rota.  Mine have so far all been bought from tesco or co-op. One home group I turned up even when poorly just because I knew I would get some of our hosts incredible cake (sponge with white chocolate butter icing and chocolate buttons) Hidden shallows….

But now I have my baking “battle scar” – an oven shelf burn and a successful “viccy sponge” pronounced light and fluffy by someone who really knows how to make a can-I-have-another-piece or will that appear impossibly greedy cake!  Storming triumph!

Think the next experiment is going to have to involve icing.  That’s a bit of a holy mystery to me.  Currently I’m taking steroids for an asthma flare up.  There’s a good reason for the food theme here – they make me endlessly, ravenously hungry.  I’m just grateful they work as breathing is such a vital, taken-for-granted thing.  One of the few things in life that makes me feel truly fragile is having to ask for help and needing the kindness of friends when I just can’t summon up the energy. That’s an everyday reality for so many people so it feels shabby even to admit that.

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