I didn’t just want to be a chocolate brownie. I didn’t want to be plain. I didn’t want to be ordinary.
I wanted to be Optimus Prime. The biggest, baddest goodest, most awesomeness Transformer ever. You can’t be plain and be Optimus Prime.
So I wasn’t just chocolate. I was nutty. And I was chocolate frosted. Chocolate nutty brownie overload. That was me.
One of my bestest buddies in Sydney is this Argentinian guy, Mariano, whose mama reputedly makes they most kick-ass home made gnocchi in the world. Sadly, I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing her gnocchi because his mama, she herself does not live in Sydney, so the wondrousness of her gnocchi will always remain an urban legend in my world.
But lucky for me, I recently learned that Mariano’s mama is not the only mama who makes delicious home made gnocchi. I successfully recruited another friend, David, whose mama also makes these little parcels of joy and yes, if you’re wondering, I do shortlist my friends based on their mamas gnocchi making capabilities.
I have a confession to make.
I eat condensed milk. Like, I mean I eat it straight out of the tin. By the tablespoon full and it is the most undulatingly sinful indulgence I have ever experienced.
But a few years ago, it dawned on me that eating condensed milk tablespoons at a time… in fact whole tins at a time… would probably leave me a fat and toothless hag at the ripe old age of 30, so in an earnest effort to keep at least my molars and incisors intact (becaused dang if I can’t eat steak with my own set of teeth), I stopped buying condensed milk.
Until this week.
Because well it’s not my fault if this ice cream recipe calls for 100mL of condensed milk, right? I mean, 100mL for the ice cream and 400mL for me?
You know how sometimes, after you’ve been with someone for a while, you kind of stop expecting any surprises. And I don’t mean like oh hey here’s a no-reason gift kind of surprise ~ those are definitely still welcome, although maybe you do stop expecting those eventually too.
What I mean is, you think you know everything about them, what they’re like when they’re happy, sad, stressed, tired and hungry… and especially how they react when they find you’ve put a red sock in with the whites. But most of all you think you know all of their skills and what they are capable – or incapable – of.
So imagine my surprise when the boys’ turn to cook finally rolled around and Panu turned into something of a budding pastry chef and knocked out not just one, but two serves of sweet thangs.
Check it out: delightful little cinnamon scrolls and the very appropriately timed Christmas star.
Wow.
I’ve never been good at naming things. Even as a child, all of my stuffed toys were very unimaginatively named. There was Suzie, Casey, Mampi (ok this one sounds original, but she came with that name, so I take no credit), Teddy, Cuddly… you get the picture. In fact, so tedious were the names I was giving my posse that my best buddy from primary school (who’s coming to visit me in London next year ~ yay!) once asked, “hey, why do all their names end with ‘eee’?”
Good question.
I don’t know, my brain can’t seem to grasp anything else.
So one day, she bought me a bear – he was a really cool scruffy kinda guy. And she named him Fergus. Wow, that threw my naming convention a real doozy.
I know I’ve been blogging like almost once a day for the past week – ok except yesterday because I’m trying not to be so addicted to this thing and somewhere between “after dinner” and “blogging” and “watching Generation Kill“, I really need to find some time to have a life.
How often should a blogger blog? Now, this is truly the million dollar question in bloggersphere. It’s up there with How do I get the perfect WordPress Theme? and How the heck do I get more than one person (my mum) to read my blog? But sadly, there’s no answer for this and the pro’s will tell you that “it’s up to you”. Which is exactly the answer that most bloggers don’t want to hear.
I’m no pro. I don’t even have a blogging schedule, like they teach you to. To me blogging is therapeutic and considering the number of conversations I have with myself in my head, I almost owe it to my sanity to flush my brain and do a verbal dump right here, every day.
But luck’s on your side because there are other things I also find therapeutic. Like making sushi.