Addiction

I don't think my dad has been too pleased with my new addiction to buying gorgeous bundt moulds. But, can you really bear to put a halt to this? When normalcy (banana chocolate chip teacake) gets an instant face-lift and comes out looking completely new and refreshed, it can be pretty hard.

So I say cool stuff, and bring on more moulds pretty please!

Onehelluvacake

So, I'm pretty sure that it's no secret that I wasn't the best student back in school. When everyone had their noses buried in books, camping in the infamous school library, I was at home looking at books.

Yes, looking, not reading. When friends were turning to Amazon as a last resort for finding that all critical text that some other desperate soul had on a permanent loan from the library, my searches inadvertently veered off-course to the land of baking books.

My mum definitely freaked out when I excitedly showed-off my random new found baking books via skype two weeks before finals.

But, something good did come out of all my random purchases. Flipping through the book earlier this morning left me convinced that a chocolate merlot cake would be just the thing I needed to complete the weekend.

And let me share with you the best kept secret ever:
Chocolate+Merlot = Unadulterated Bliss.

'Nuff Said. I'm going to have another slice.

Homecoming

Sometimes, we get so caught up with getting by day to day that we forget. We forget the dreams we once used to have, forget the love and passion that bred creativity and experimentation. And more importantly, we forget that sometimes, it is this very dream that completes you, that gives you the very energy you need to get by.

I have neglected my buttersugarflour for an inexcusable length of time. For some strange reason, perhaps due the successive triumph of my weekend lazybones, it didn't feel like it was that big a deal. But I guess withdrawal symptoms surface at different points with different people- some go into cold turkey right away and some succeed for a while before really hitting you hard. I was, of course, the latter.

It finally hit me, after spending two hours being surrounded by terribly gorgeous cake moulds, that really, I've truly missed my long lost friends. And that really, placing me in the middle of cake mould land is as detrimental as placing me in a shop filled with gorgeous prêt-à-porter! Needless to say, I couldn't have gone home empty handed could I?

Buidling the cake's body was itself such an indulgence! Liquid, dry ingredients, liquid. Adding complexity with every humble ingredient, folding everything till it became one cohesive velvety smooth layer and finally tumbling the contents into the gorgeous moulds. Everything just seemed so in sync and exactly how it should have been.

I guess we all have bad days (or weeks). Perhaps then, the only way to get yourself out of a rut and start embracing whatever life has to offer- good or bad, is to go back to what truly makes you happy.

Everything will fall into place. Somehow.

Shots to start the day.

I know, I know, this is perhaps the one thousandth time I'm talking about Ann Siang. But let's face it, if there's any place to get your latte on a Sunday morning, this is the best place to be.

It is particularly awesome on weekends, with the slow buzz that makes the lazy Sunday morning perfect. What I love about it really, is that old guildhalls (we actually have a Dried Goods Guildhall!) complete with the low rumble of mahjong tiles emanating behind closed shutters and refurnished shophouses stocked with merchandise carefully sourced from around the world can sit side by side and still look perfectly in sync.

A little bit of old magic never fails to make my day (:

♥ to the best friend who has to constantly put up with my crazy random exploration habits.

Surprise ♥

Look who decided that I needed a smile to start my morning?

Straws and My Tart Craze

The one thing I missed out 3 years in ol'London was strawberry picking. The season of straws always coincided with the dreaded examinations or post-exams when exploring Europe was more in vogue. Last year was no exception, with my examinations stretching way longer than everyone.

So while the flatmate and his visiting brother happily trooped out to pick/eat/both straws, I was stuck at home with my nose plastered to my books in a desperate bid to reverse my fate. T'was a real bummer to say the least, but of course, the said flatmate did come back with a huge box of straws for us and made a really yummy traditional Eton Mess out of his yummy picks.

With my last tart crust turning out into a joke (see mango tart post), I was quite adament on making a successful tart - both process and end product. And yay! finally managed to beat the heat (with flour) and rolled out my tart crust the way it should have been done (: Chef G would've been proud.

And then I found out that my sis finished the milk. Imagine my horror! To have a tart shell and gorgeous red straws lying around and NO milk to make the pastry cream. I think I must make an awful chef- no maison en plus whatsoever and always finding out that I'm lacking some ingredient or another at the very last minute. But, I decided to substitute it with whipping cream instead. Not as smooth as desired, but still, a fuller bodied (in terms of fat percentage) denser creme patissier made its debut.

Don't straws just make you want to smile?

Sunday Brunch Out

Picnic plans on Saturday had to be shelved last minute due to certain last minute responses to the exigencies of a biannual event. But, when you've been looking forward to it for the past two weeks, shelving plans can be a real let-down. Sooo, thanks to my wonderful, amazing, darling girls, we re-arranged it for Sunday instead!

Yes, we had none of the whole chicken on foccacia jazz that was planned, and really, all that we got were kinda junk food. But in between stuffing our face with kettle chips, trading latest on-goings and hiding under umbrellas (them, not me), we had a whale of a time.

No elaborate planning needed, just great company and great weather.

That's how Sundays are meant to be.