I don’t celebrate Halloween. Don’t let that jack-o-lantern there fool you even for a minute. He’s not really grinning. He’s grimacing. And you know why he’s grimacing? Because about five minutes after this photo was taken, he was chopped up into teensy weensy little bits and put on the boil.
Wow, I guess Halloween is gruesome.
Growing up in Australia, we never had the pleasure of celebrating Halloween. We knew about it, of course we did, because it wasn’t like we didn’t watch television. We were inundated with quality American tv shows of which I shall not name any, but I will point the finger in the direction of my mother who groomed me into the trash-tv-watcher I am today by plonking me down every afternoon after school with my cheese on toast, ready for another gripping episode of The Bold and The Beautiful. Because that chin on Ridge? It was beautiful.
We knew about Halloween, but no one really trick-or-treated, so nobody dared to start because you’d look like a damn twat all dressed up on your own. And when you’re a prepubescent, scrawny, dorky, coke bottled Asian kid (um, I’m talking about my brother, of course), you simply didn’t need another reason to be beat up. So every year on October 31, we spent another average night at home.
Some kids inevitably did try and push the issue. They dressed up and wandered around the neighbourhood, ringing doorbells, disgruntling the geriatric neighbours who turned in about six hours earlier. At 4pm. Eventually they’d get to our house and ring the door bell.
My dad would sit up like a meerkat. Hm, he wasn’t expecting any visitors tonight. Who could it be? He’d slowly wander towards the front of the house and peer out into the dark from behind our lace curtain. Because guys, in case you didn’t know, lace is like the best cover ever.
He’d see these kids standing by our door, impatient for their goodies. Or at least he thought they were kids, they kind of looked like goblins. Eventually he’d settle on the fact that the goblins weren’t dangerous, and even if they were, he could take three of them on, so he opened the door.
“Trick or treat!” the goblins squealed.
A minor heart-attack. Regained composure. My dad may be from a tiny little village in Malaysia but he ain’t no fool. He knows about Halloween too, although I’m not sure how because he only ever watched the 7.30 Report on tv. And Foreign Correspondent.
Surprisingly, the goblins actually bring him a little glee. They want some sweets do they? Fabulous, fabulous. My dad wanders back into the kitchen to see what he might have in store. After a few minutes, he comes back to the front door. The goblins are eager.
One by one they open their bags nice and wide. My dad’s arms slowly uncurl to reveal the fantastical goodies that lay within. And…
… an apple? What the fuck an apple??? That’s not even a toffee apple!
[Note that my dad thinks fruits = desserts = sweets]
The goblins are unimpressed. Crazy old man handing out apples. The biggest goblin, presumably a mother, encourages the young ones to accept graciously anyhow. And they do. And they slowly waddle down our driveway to the next house.
Presumably, the legend of the man who gave apples was bred right then and there, and from that night on, we never got any trick-or-treaters again.
ps. I did have a butt load of fun carving that pumpkin
|Pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting|
|195 grams plain flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon salt
110 grams unsalted butter (at room temperature)
200 grams caster sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
75 grams pumpkin puree
Cream Cheese Frosting:
a 12-hole cupcake tray, lined with cupcake cases
Cream cheese frosting:
|Makes 12-15 cupcakes|