When I was a child I used to spend the weekends at my grandparent’s house.
Those glorious, responsibility-free days would be filled with endless visits to car boot sales or village fetes. Too much time would be had in front of the television, eating fatty foods. And more often than not, we’d bake.
Scones and sponges, flans and flapjacks, crumbles and cupcakes; we would make them all. And it was always my job to lick the spoon
and or the bowl.
Those delicate delicacies were delicious.
Something has changed since I was a kid though. Now it seems that everyone with a fucking kitchen is able to whip-up la grand patisserie-style masterpieces. A far cry from the humble baking of my youth.
The Great British Bake-Off has a lot to answer for.
Seriously though, what’s wrong with a simple sponge cake and icing topping? Sprinkles used to be fancy. Now they act as simple garnish for the rest of the design. What compels people to want to bake these giant monstrosities anyway? They’re only going to be devoured in a few seconds.
It’s not that I’m against beautiful, massive Cakey McCakeFace cakes – I have a sweet tooth as much as the next person – but the problem I have with them starts at the school gate. More specifically the school bake sale.
As a mum bringing cakes into school, which look as if they were produced from the seventies, I have more than once cursed myself for not sticking to plan A; to just buy them straight from the shop. I have found myself blaming my little helpers – i.e. the kids – for my baking disasters on more than one occasion.
It seems that baking skills are a prerequisite for being a mother these days but it’s clearly a qualification I missed out on.
Tips gratefully received, just don’t expect me to do anything with them. Seriously, how did cupcakes get so fucking complicated?