Once upon a time, I worked in restaurant kitchens. I was a cook, mostly, but I also worked as a baker...bread and desserts, etc. Nothing too fancy. No wedding cakes. But I know my way around a mixer.
In the past few weeks, I have attempted to make two very simple baked goods (banana bread and brownies) and they both came out like crap. What the hell? I should be able to do this in my sleep with my hands tied behind my back.
I concluded that it had something to do with Mister Man, because I needed someone to blame, and now that Mister Man is really part of the family, I figured I might as well pass the buck to him. I also intend to talk about him behind his back (which should be tricky).
Then, on Thursday, some friends came to visit and they arrived with three bags of amazing food, including some beautiful berries. Most of the berries in the stores now are imported, and I'm a little wary of eating them raw, so I decided to make a tart.
This was a hell of a lot more complicated than the banana bread and brownies that I fucked up. I was a little nervous, but as you can see, I pulled it off. It's delicious.
3 comments:
that tart looks so.... damn good.screw brownies,i want that.
vartan.
I was privileged to partake of said tart. It's difficult to find the language to describe its celestial deliciousness, the mouthfuls of sheer bliss... I cried.
My compliments to Mr. Man.
When I get back from Europe we can stage a "site specific" production of "Endgame" in those trash barrels. I visited Beckett's grave in Montparnasse, so I'm newly inspired.
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