Be Afraid - Here Comes The Office Christmas Bake-Off

Sunday Evening Over At My House

Brr … Snow …
Just as the week of insane storms finishes we get snow.
Gack.
And of course as soon as it snows all the electricity goes off for miles around.
Ah, village life.

Actually, it was nice. All the streetlights were dead and I crave dark skies. I wrapped up warm and went outside and there was the Milky Way. Pow! Right over my front doorstep like a river of fairy lights only much better than Disney could ever do. A dusting of icing sugar snow reflecting the starlight and I must confess things were getting pretty darned pretty. I half expected to see a poor man come into sight, gathering winter fooo-ooo-el.
A few minutes with the binoculars, gasping at the Pleiades, Hyades and the Double Cluster in Perseus, a quick hello to Jupiter's moons, then a couple of minutes to set up the camera and tripod and … arse … it clouded over and started snowing again.

Ah, well. I kinda like power cuts. Living in the village I always keep a mini-Maglite and a stack of candles to hand. Pretty soon the house looked about as Christmassey as it gets around here and I was happily tucked up under a duvet in the big chair reading Dickens by candle-light.

That's bliss for me. Peace, quiet, velvety darkness; just me, a candle and a good book. Suddenly reading becomes an even deeper pleasure than usual. I rather hoped the power cut would go on for hours.

It almost did. A little over an hour and a half of sipping wine, enjoying the company of Mister Dickens and his characters and feeling all snug and nineteenth century.
I actually said "Oh, poo" out loud when the lights came back up. Way too glary and bright.
Hey ho … So here I am taking advantage of the power to write a blog post extolling the virtues of power cuts. They're like comfort food for a Luddite like me.
Come bedtime I'm going to tuck myself up in bed all warm and toasty and let it snow. I'll be reading Dickens by candle-light again. Bugger electricity.

What's Cooking With Dive? - CAAAAAAAAKE!

This cake, to be precise.

My entry in the office Christmas Bake-Off.

Deck the halls with manky bits of holly whose berries have shrivelled up. 'Tis the season for eighteen hardy volunteers to battle it out in a flour-strewn gladiatorial arena.

No prize except the honour of stomping your rivals into the dust, and the fact that for eighteen days (one competitor per day) we stuffed ourselves stupid with wonderful cake.
And those cowards who declined to take part didn't get a single crumb. Ha!

I'll post the best and worst from the Christmas Bake-Off after this.

But first … Don your pinnies and follow me into the kitchen …

Nope, not my kitchen. In my bid for Bake-Off glory I'm bringing in some heavy fire power to help me and borrowing mum's kitchen and oven (way better than mine) and her Jedi cake-baking powers.

The Guinness is there because I'll be baking the only cake I ever bake: Guinness Cake.

Happy, drunken sultanas! Basically, you soak these suckers in Guinness overnight, which is as good an excuse as any to be sociable and not force them to drink alone.

Eggy.

Hokay … time to get nasty. Smash the skulls of three innocent eggies and whip them suckers until they scream.

Or go frothy.
Actually, frothy's probably better for this dish.

About yay much butter.

You know how I hate using any measurements. Unfortunately baking requires precision, so here's a list of ingredients you'll need if you want to join me in enjoying one of the finest cakey experiences known to man:

6oz. raisins

6oz. sultanas

Whaddya mean, "How much is that in kilogrammes?" I have not the faintest idea. Bollocks to the metric system. I was raised on Imperial measurements and I can only think in them. I have absolutely no idea how long a litre is or how much a kilometre weighs and frankly, my dears, I don't give a damn. If I have to give measurements they'll be in roods and perches and pecks and barrels and yards and furlongs and hundredweights and stones and real money; none of this "I can only count up to ten" malarkey.

Okay?

Right …

Raisins, blah, sultanas, blah …

8 tablespoons of Guinness. Yay!

Soak that lot in a bowl overnight, while you drink and then sleep off the rest of the Guinness.

Next day, grease and line a seven-and-a-half inch tin and pre-heat your oven (or mum's in this case) to gas mark three (which is the equivalent of something whatever-ish in electric ovens, apparently).

You'll also want:

6oz. butter (about yay much)

3 eggs

6oz dark sugar (a mix of natural molasses sugar and soft raw cane is good)

8oz plain flour (don't ask me what that is in American. We have plain or self-raising flour; across the pond I suspect they have something else; it's like when they call single cream haff'n'haff, or chickpeas garbanzo beans … Garbanzo beans? That sounds like a circus act, not something I'd want to put in my mouth - I just don't get it … anyhoo, you'll want 6oz of whatever plain flour is in America)

2 teaspoons of mixed spice

A generous grating of whole nutmeg

3oz peel

3oz chopped mixed nuts.

Ready?

Let's go!

Cream the butter and sugar together until it's what mum calls "light and fluffy" and I call yummy.

Gradually add the frothy eggs, floophing a little flour in there each time you get eggy.

Oh, and I claim dibs on the neologism "Flooph" for the sound flour makes.

Another reason I'm over at mum's is that she has a food processor and, as I don't bake, all I have at home is a bunch of knives and a pestle and mortar. Great for what I do but crapola when it gets to cake time.

So … onward.

Time to get gloopy … yay!

Sift whatever flour you've got left together with the spices and fold into the glop.

Add the soaked fruit, the Guinness, the peel and nuts and slowly FOLD them all into the mixture.

"Fold" is the important word here (though not like in origami … origami with sloppy gloppy cake mix is something that should only be practiced in the bedroom between consenting adults). You want to combine everything in as gloopy a way as possible but you DO NOT want to knock the air out. This sucker's got to be light. It's not cloying like most fruit cakes; this is seriously good to eat.

G.L.O.O.P.

Hell, yeah.

Slop that lot into the tin and flatten softly with a metal spoon (you get to lick it clean afterwards which 'as any fule kno' is the REAL reason to bake cakes).

A stupid moustache is not mandatory, but as the next time I bake a cake is likely to be next Movember, I'll probably have to grow another one for that.

Okey dokey. Cake in the oven … like so.

Now we get an hour and a half to spend in decadent leisure.

Er … doing the washing up.

Ninety minutes later, check the cake is done by sticking it with a skewer. If the thing comes out clean, it's perfect.

Like this one.

Now comes a few weeks of cakey alcoholism.

Wrap your cake in greaseproof paper and foil and stick it somewhere out of the way.

Once a week, unwrap it, make a load of holes in the bottom with a long needle and sloooowly dribble Guinness Extra and twelve year old Armagnac into it.

Actually you can add what you want, but as you'll be left with lots of booze it may as well be something you'd choose to drink anyway. I've never understood people who cook with cheap wine or bake with crap brandy. What the hell would I do with three-quarters of a bottle of three-star smegging Napoleon? Bugger that! Twelve year old Armagnac it is.

I couldn't be arsed to ice it, so I boiled up a glaze with apricot jam and a little water, glazed the top, plonked on a load of nuts and glacé cherries, slopped some more glaze on to keep things in place while I drove, drizzled on some more Armagnac and headed out the door for the office.

It tastes way better than it looks. Holy crap, that's a good cake. Moist but not TOO moist, light and still fruity and nutty, and every bite you take brings a face full of Armagnac fumes.

Make one. If I can do it then you certainly can.

Enjoy!

Rejoice!

Watch out this weekend for the first cookery post in a long time, plus the best and the worst from the office Christmas Bake-Off.

In the meantime, kick your festive ass into gear with a glorious seasonal "Live From Daryl's House".
The Blind Boys of Alabama come to visit and spread some seriously righteous Gospel cheer.

Consider this your Christmas card this year. If I could send it to everybody I would. So many high points and "Oh, wow" moments. "Go Tell It On The Mountain" is a real rouser and "Midnight Clear" so beautiful it hurts, but the whole episode is a heartwarming seasonal hug.


Enjoy!

A Small Mercy

Well, so much for the leaves … They've flown south for the winter and won't be coming back until March.
'Tis the season of sniffles and sneezes and achy joints and dreading the office Christmas party and really, REALLY not wanting to get out from under the warm duvet on a cold morning.

Let's make the most of what we've got: bare trees mean I can see more of the Cathedral from the Riverside Walk by the office. Small mercies are there if you look hard enough.

Who Ate All The Pies?

Do click on this and blow it up and then have a think.

Suddenly I don't feel so fat any more.
Insignificant, yes, but not fat.

Too Much Information

Some say the interweb is the best invention of all time.
Porn? Spam? Phishing? Cats?
Hmmm … they could be right.

But then, when you're waiting for your stock to boil and flicking mindlessly through the more desperate corners of your newspaper's website you realise that sometimes there is simply too much information …

There are things I really do not need in my life. That was one of them.

WTF Monday - Dreck The Halls

After yesterday's comments box reminded me of the delights of a SkyMall Christmas, I checked their current catalogue to be sure and fill my life with "collectible" taste and "designer" elegance this Christmas. Remember, kids: Christmas is not just about the baby Jesus, it's also a time to send your money to China to support struggling billionaire entrepreneurs and child-labour factories.

There were way too many nuggets to make anything less than a novel-length post, so I've chosen just a tiny sample to whet your appetites and get you in the festive mood.

First up: a snip at only $124.95 comes this year's offering from everybody's favourite "artist" … the Thomas Kinkade Crystal Santa Claus (yay).

Here's what the catalogue has to say:
"This molded crystal Santa Claus has an interior three-dimensional holiday scene inspired by renowned holiday artist Thomas Kinkade's original artwork. The glistening Santa is holding a lantern and a list that he's checking twice. The interior holiday tableau has three Victorian homes with illuminating windows that cast a golden glow onto snowcapped evergreen trees, skaters on an "icy" pond, and a cobblestone bridge. A miniature reindeer-drawn sleigh carrying a merry Santa and glittering gifts automatically circles the base of the figurine.
Each Santa is hand-numbered and comes with a certificate of authenticity."

Er … "molded" crystal? I wonder just which type of "crystal" can be moulded? Plastic, perhaps? "Hand numbered" (whoop-di-doo! Some poor child labourer in China has been taught how to scrawl numbers on a piece of mdf). And not forgetting that all important "Certificate of Authenticity" - It's not just tacky crap, it's AUTHENTIC tacky crap. REJOICE (in upper case).


Next!

Whooee! Call Casey Jones! Here comes the Santa Express!

"Santa's Express is rolling your way with gifts, animated elves and music.
Twenty popular Christmas and railroading songs play as the wheels turn and real smoke billows from the smokestack.
(Bottle of propylene glycol for smoke effect included.)"

I included this for the very festive "railroading songs" and the chemical smoke-bomb to fill your house with choking festive smog. Fun!

Here's something no festive table should be without:

"This handsome Ice Skating Rink sets the scene of old-fashioned winter entertainment.
Victorian skaters enjoy the crisp weather as they twirl across an oval rink illuminated by two LED floodlights.
Plays 25 Christmas carols and 25 year-round songs.
Volume control and push-button song selection.
Complete with ticket booth and snack bar.
Free 5-1/2" mini Ferris Wheel plays We Wish You a Merry Christmas.
World's Fair Skating Rink with Free Miniature Ferris Wheel."

Imagine the hours of innocent pleasure your family (especially the teenagers) can get from gathering around the table to feast their eyes and ears on this little gem.

Now this next one I actually WANT!

Hokay, so I'm not Jewish but hey, you gotta admit this is strangely attractive.
Or maybe not …

"Evoking Picasso's expressionist paintings of women (Dora Maar), these handmade ceramic pieces are contemporary and timeless.
Hand-painted with abstract images and vivid colors, the menorah is finished on both sides. Metal inserts hold standard Hanukkah candles (sold separately).
Decorative dreidel comes with stand."

Happy Hanukkah, guys!

I'll finish with this one as I really must get my ass in gear and get to work. You'll have to check the catalogue for more great ideas.

I particularly love this one … for its Christmas message and especially for those delicious words: "collectible", "2010 Edition" (in 2011), and the glorious use of "quality" and "designer" in front of the word "resin." I gotta get me some designer resin.


""Bigfoot, the Holiday Yeti" 2010 Holiday Ornament
Our legendary yeti makes a holiday appearance, decked out with all the trimmings! This collectible, 2010 edition holiday ornament makes a fun-loving package tie-on, stocking stuffer, tree ornament or creative addition to your Bigfoot collection.
Cast in hand-painted quality designer resin."

Tis the season, people, so get out your wallets and prepare to suffer.

Meanwhile, Two Years Later …

At long, long last the scaffolding has come down from the Guildhall and the restored east gable is back in business with its lovely fourteenth century checkerboard flint and stonework gleaming.

It's taken over two years for the stonemasons to stabilise and repair the gable to its full spiffiness but they've done a good job.
The place had stood quite happily for over seven hundred years (it was already old when the checkerboard façade was added) when some dickwad of a Victorian decided to suck up to the mayor by adding a clock tower in his honour.

Of course, being Victorian, the builders simply plonked several tons of stonework on top of the ancient gable and sat back smugly, not thinking about such things as proper flashings or structural supports.

Not for nothing did the mayor have both Wood and Cock in his name. He should have included Plonker, too. His erection almost brought down the beautiful mediæval gable.
But now, with proper structural supports and flashings installed and the whole thing buffed up in its Sunday best it can hopefully stand for many centuries hence.
Though someone will need to get up there and wind the bugger; I took these at half-ten.

Saturday Statuary - Creepy Peepee