It is time for an annual event of deep cultural significance to many folk, the baking of a Christmas cake. Whilst my involvement is miniscule, even in our own kitchen (what position is below sous chef?), I can confirm that the emphasis is rather more on the cake than the Christmas. Throughout October, Megan had been squirrelling away ingredients as she spotted them in various emporia, as it is rare here that every commodity is available in the same shop at the same time. The dried fruits have now been sufficiently soaked in brandy and had their car keys removed for safety.
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| I think this is a living document, in as much that some of those splatters are probably evolving |
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| Ingredients combined and stirred |
It was at this point that I was called into action, measuring and folding a double layer of greaseproof paper to line the cake tin, before being unceremoniously ejected from the kitchen once more.
Upon removal from the oven, and after subsequent cooling, the cake is wrapped in foil and moved to a secret location. At various points between now and the festive season, a basting syringe will mysteriously appear in the washing-up pile, which is my only clue that wonderful alchemy is afoot.
All I can do to quell the longing is make a wish list of cheeses for purchase through December and reassure myself that this wait is not as bad as the one between dragonfly seasons.
(I, too, was wondering how I was going to bring natural history into this blogpost).
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