In Which my Baking Pays Off

Almost two years ago, I promised myself I would bake something new at least once a week, and write something new once a week: and so, Wacky World and Tashcakes! were born. I've been diligently writing and baking ever since, and becoming more and more proficient at both. My writing has slowly gained me more and more recognition at work, but my baking remained a more personal love, shared with the people closest to me (and of course, I suppose, the anonymous faceless body called the Internet).

Yesterday, I found out that I had gotten though to the finals of Godiva's Chocolate Challenge competition with my praline mousse coeur.

I and four other finalists were chosen over a shortlist of 10, which were chosen from over a hundred entries. All four of us win an expenses-paid 5* trip to Brussels, and this Thursday we'll be put through our paces in Godiva's kitchens in London to bake our chocolate creations for a panel of four Big Name judges for the top prize: a visit to Godiva's chocolate Atelier, and our creation on the menu of Hix Soho for a week. There will also be a few hundred people watching, and apparently the odd journalist. I'm also up against a big name in the food blogging and writing world, a professional baker and a budding chocolatier... making me feel like a bit of a weird outcast wildcard.

I still think I'm having a crazy and weirdly elaborate dream.

Words cannot describe how I'm feeling... and I'm a professional writer. So far the closest I've come is 'excarded' (scared/ excited). Well, I am pretty darn excarded!!

Pinch me.

Ow.

Fearing For The General Public's Health/ How Not To Poison Someone

As some of my friends know, I went on a course yesterday to learn about food hygiene and take the Level 2 Food Safety and Hygiene exam (I won't know if I've passed for some weeks to come, but I'm pretty sure I did). This is so that, in the near-but-not-too-near future, I can sell officially (at least, it's a step- and it's going to be a while before I do). I wondered at first if I should do it since I'm entering the GBBO (see my previous post... I reiterate: Ohmygodwhathaveidoneaaaaargh), but I looked at the rules and I don't think it counts as a professional catering qualification. At least I don't think so- you don't get taught how to cook at all, only how not to poison people.

Now, a lot of this course was common sense, like not putting something warm in the fridge or freezer, not storing raw meat above cooked meat in the fridge in case it drips, not picking your nose and then go back to kneading the dough without washing your hands first... all that sort of stuff. There were also more specific things that you would have to be told or read up on to know, like clostridium botulinum bacteria (commonly found on grains like rice) can survive in their spores at water's boiling point and need to be superheated to over 122 degrees C (usually with steam and pressure- which is the process canned foods go through for this purpose) to kill them.

The toxins from clostridium botulinum are also actually used for botox- I knew this already, but then again I am a nerd.

However, regrettably, some people do not seem to posses common sense. A small handful of the people in my 'class' did not.

Bullet point time.

-The instructor asked us 'what does freezing do to bacteria?' One of the men behind me answered 'Ummm... minus twenty-two.'

- The instructor asked the class if anyone present was a first-aider. The guy behind me put his hand up and said 'yeah, yeah, I'm a first-aider.' 'Excellent, you have a certificate?' Asked the instructor. 'Oh, no... I have a first aid box,' he replied.

- Whenever the instructor asked a question in general, a couple of the guys, including these two, were always a few seconds away with their answers (ie, a few seconds after I or someone else had given the correct answer). When 'why do you have to decant food from a tin immediately?' was asked, the guy behind me answered 'because it'll go bad.' When the instructor asked for anyone else to elaborate, I answered 'the air will oxidise the metal and contaminate the food.' A few seconds after I had the first words out, the guy behind me was parroting 'yeah, air... oxidise... contaminate...'

- One guy's phone kept going off (in the stereotypical Nokia theme tune, too). This is a pet peeve of mine, and I really wanted to turn around and hiss at him how rude he was when the instructor was trying to speak to us and to turn his damned phone off, but of course I'm far too British and awkward for that...

-The guy behind me and his friend kept talking to each other whilst the instructor was talking. See above.

- The guy behind me also clicked his pen, tapped his pen, tapped his foot (in fact he had a whole body drum kit thing going on), and ate biscuits abnormally loudly. It was just a jammy dodger, but he made it sound like wet leather slapping on tiles in an echoing cavern dripping with bat guano. Okay, so this doesn't directly relate to someone not having common sense, but it really got my goat

- When asked why blue plasters are used in the kitchen, one guy replied 'So  you can see it and pick it out of the food.' No, my good sir. It's so you can see it and throw the contaminated food away, not serve it to your customers.

- When it was time to do the exam, one guy asked the instructor 'Can we ask you questions?' He was being serious.

You know what though- the thing that really worries me is that people like this pass these exams all the time, and set up food businesses all the time. I can't say I'm that surprised- I have, after all, worked as a silver service waitress part time during uni and I've seen some things go on behind the scenes- but it still makes me quite sad. And more than a little grossed out.

~Fin~

NEWSFLASH

I've submitted my entry for the Great British Bake Off 2013.

Ohmygodwhathaveidoneaaaaargh.

Baking Mad: My First Cakewreck

Take a moment, if you will, to look at the pretty and tasty things I bake.

Now look at this.

What is this I don't even

LOOK AT IT.

This... this... thing is everything a cake shouldn't be. It's heavy, it's got the texture of wallpaper paste and it's so sweet it gives you cavities by just smelling it.

This is- or was intended to be- a honey cake.

Now I've made honey cake many, many times before, always using the same recipe I've adapted from numerous cook books. A simple, light, fluffy and subtly but distinctively honeyed confection with floral undertones and a hint of citrus, baked in a loaf tin and eaten plain with a cup of tea.

This time, however, I decided to be different, and try someone else's recipe.

My first, and possibly most key mistake out of seven mistakes, was to use an American one.

Honey is sweet, right? So you'd think it'd register in my mind that it was a little off that this recipe I found from the internet (possibly the second mistake) called for a cup of honey, a cup and a half of white sugar, and another cup of brown sugar. Actually yes, it did register- but the reviews had nothing but good things to say about the flavour of this cake, and I've been trying to get out of the habit of second-guessing and altering any recipe I come across- so I decided to roll with it.

My third mistake then, was to not listen to my gut instincts, and just alter the damned recipe.

My fourth mistake was to follow the additional advice at the end of the recipe and make it into a frosted layer cake. It told me to make a cream cheese frosting, because the tanginess of the cheese would allegedly create a foil for the sweetness of the cake. This made sense, I thought, because the Russian honey layer cake medovik does use a sour cream filling. So I made their cream cheese frosting.

My fifth mistake was seeing all of that icing sugar going into the frosting, and frosting the cake with it instead of sticking it straight where it belonged: in the bin.

Now back to the cake itself: when it came out of the oven (after I had tested it with the prodding test and poking test as usual), it was springy and smelled great. I tested a little bit that was sticking out- it seemed okay. I only realised things were starting to go terribly wrong when the cake had cooled and the springiness that it had when it was fresh out of the oven had disappeared. Then I cut it into layers.

Mistake number six: seeing the glue-like insides and not putting it all in the same place I should have put the cream cheese frosting. Instead, bravely optimistic, I put the whole lot together, sliced it, and tried it.

My god, it was the most awful thing I've ever tasted that has ever come out of my oven. As I had feared, it was tooth-achingly sweet and its glue-like texture turned to cement in the stomach. Disgusted, particularly with the frosting, I picked the layers apart and scraped the horrible stuff, at long last chucking it away. Would that make it any better? The cake was still like glue, despite it having come out of the oven apparently perfectly baked. I didn't want to waste it- what on Earth could I do?

My final mistake:I put it in the microwave, in the mad hope it would make it fluffy like a steamed pudding. It didn't. It just sort of... melted.

The wretched thing is still sitting on the counter in the kitchen, although I have admitted defeat now. I don't want to throw it away, but I just cannot think of anything to do with this foul creation. I've been considering the various way you could murder someone with it, since it's so heavy- drop it from a high building, put it in a bag and beat someone with it, blend it into a smoothie and force feed someone the whole lot... but I've definitely learned to listen to the instinct I've gained from years of baking experience.

What I'd Rather Do on a Saturday Night: Cocktails and Stargazing

Saturday 11th August 2012- what a brilliant night.

This weekend I've been in Birmingham visiting friends, mainly Siu Yen (the one who gave me the selection of Japanese sweets in the entry 14th July 2012) for her early birthday celebrations. I came bearing gifts of funky makeup and these cakes I'd made:

(Luckily they survived the journey on the train with me).

We began the evening with a group of Siu Yen's friends and her boyfriend Cam at a nice restaurant, and later on progressed to a couple of cocktail bars, pretty much having the sort of laid-back letting-hair-down fun out in town that nice people in their twenties have in the city centre on a Saturday night.

At some point in the evening, somebody mentioned that there was supposed to be a meteor shower going on later. Me being a bit geeky and knowing about certain celestial events, I immediately knew which shower it was.

"The Perseids," I said.

"What?"

"Every year around this time there's a meteor shower that looks like the shooting stars are originating from the constellation Perseus, which is why they're called the Perseids."

There was a pause. I felt like I had to continue.

"I used follow an online celestial calender thing to track these astrological events but since it's been so cloudy for the last few meteor showers I've been too disheartened to follow the events properly."

Pause.

"There are also pretty good showers in November called the Leonids, and the Geminids in December are supposed to be the best ones', I added, helpfully.

"Alright... " Somebody said, "But it'd be too bright to see them in the city centre, wouldn't it? All the lights and everything..."

"I think if we went to Cannon Hill Park and got away from the roads it'd be okay- plus it's a relatively clear night for once, so I think it'd be worth it," I said.

Most weren't too bothered, but Cam and Siu Yen were quite excited about the idea, so after cocktails and when it hit 1am, we went back to Siu Yen's flat to get changed out of party dresses and into sensible star-gazing clothing (excluding Cam of course, who was not in a dress to begin with), grabbed a blanket, and went to a petrol station to get some picnic-like snacks.

On the way to the petrol station we passed Broad Street, Birmingham's (in)famous watering hole and clubbing scene for students and young people in general. An ambulance bluelighted its way past, and I bet Siu Yen and Cam that it was for an alcohol poisoning. Sure enough a bit further down the road, the ambulance had pulled up and the paramedics were frog-marching a very bedraggled-looking girl dressed up as a Grecian Goddess with vomit all down her front. I vaguely wondered how long it'd take her to be back in the bar and drinking again after this experience.

Broad Street was littered with short skirts, cleavage, bare chests and glitter, also featuring people on stilts, someone dressed up as Sonic the Hedgehog and another as Pikachu (the image of Sonic the Hedgehog miming spanking has ruined my childhood), and a girl carrying the biggest inflatable penis I've ever seen. Siu Yen commented on how young everyone looked- I noted that perhaps it wasn't that the crowd was getting younger: rather we were getting older.

I've never been to a club, and I've never been out boozing. Sure I go out for cocktails with friends every so often, but I've never once drunk myself sick (maybe because I can have enough fun without alcohol already and I have a pretty hardy liver thanks to my Russian-Polish blood, but that's just speculaton). I'd also rather be in an environment where I can hear other people talking, or at very least shouting. However I have a very broad sense of fun even as a geeky girl, which is why this evening was perfect- good food, funky colourful cocktails and stargazing. Once we had managed to break free of the Bedlam that is Broad Street on a Saturday night, we made our way down to Cannon Hill Park and sort of broke into it.

I said 'sort of' broke into- it's not really 'forbidden' per se to enter the park past opening hours, it's just that the gates to the main entrances and parking are closed. If you know where the park begins and ends, however, you can just go around and sidle your way between and past the bushes to get in- which is what we did.

Feeling ever so daring (and just a bit wary of disturbing and angering the odd passing badger), we picked a nice open spot not too far from the road but far enough from the street lights, spread out the blanket, located Perseus in the sky with the help of a star chart and my pre-existing knowledge of where Cassiopeia and Ursa Minor is in relation to everything (I know, I know...), lay down and gazed out into our galaxy.

We didn't exactly see a multitude of meteorites, and we only stayed out until the clouds finally and inevitably came to shroud the night sky from our view (it was about 2:30am by this time), but any shooting star we did catch was met with loud cheers and exclamations of 'WOW!' and 'Did you see that one??' We chatted about the stars and interesting Science-y things, and I silently reflected to myself, as I always do when I stargaze, how small we really are, and how strangely serene it feels to have everything put into perspective (and, in this instance, what a shame it was for all those students on Broad Street to surely be staring down a toilet later on in their evenings rather than up at the stars). Our excited chatter and laughter gradually died down to a thoughtful quiet, and we watched the stars twinkle and the eerie glow of a satellite lazily tracing its path up in orbit.

"Tash, do you believe in God?"

~Fin~

Short Stories: A Real-Life Golden Snitch

It's my mum's birthday on Friday, and she requested a croquembouche instead of a birthday cake this year (which is fair enough, since I made a pretty massive Chinese-style birthday cake for my dad's birthday only about three weeks ago). Since I work 9-5, practise the piano and do the odd fitness class/ make myself skip almost every day if I'm not at a fitness class, I've been preparing it since this Monday (it's Wednesday night now).

This evening I've been making the vanilla crème patissière filling, finishing off the white chocolate roses I've been crafting which I'll be decorating the croquembouche with, along with some milk chocolate leaves (which are evil to make, by the way), and then spraying them with edible gold lustre. There's also been great big fat bluebottle flying around whilst I worked.

Whilst I was spraying my chocolate flora (and I SWEAR this didn't happen on purpose), the bluebottle managed to fly straight into the stream of the spray.

So there's now a very bling bluebottle flying around. Every so often I catch it glinting in the corner of my eye- it makes me laugh because it's just like a tiny golden snitch.

Maybe I should craft a little golden white chocolate fly in its honour?

Friday edit: here's the finished article, incidentally:

Vanilla bean crème patissière- filled profiteroles with muscavado ganache, milk chocolate leaves and white chocolate roses. All hand-made from scratch by yours truly.