The great International Edible Book Festival that you never knew about (but do now)

A few loyal (or perhaps just overly polite) followers have recently enquired about the blog, or rather lack thereof. Alright, alright, alright, I’m getting slack.

 

I put my slackness down to the sheer humdrum of busy daily life – thesedays I tend to feel pretty proud of just accomplishing a school and pre-school drop-off in the morning, pick-up in the afternoon and a day’s work in between. Baking is a bit of a luxury if I’m honest.

The blog-silence is also down to how mundane my baking has become. Muffins anyone? Yawn.

And so just when I thought I’d lost my floury fizzle once and for all, I read about the International Edible Book Festival. Oh yes, edible books. I am so back.

The geeks among you can read about the festival’s history here: according to the event’s founders Judith A. Hoffberg and Beatrice Coron the International Edible Book Festival is held on 1 April every year for two reasons. Firstly, it is the birthday of French gastronome Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin (1755-1826), famous for his witty meditation on food, physiologie du goût. And secondly, it’s April Fools’ Day – a time of pranks and playfulness. The event is now held in at least 23 countries. See, you learned a little something today.

 

Right, the rest of you can pick up again here. As a lover of books and a lover of cakes it was inevitable I’d link the two at some stage. So when I read about the festival I took that as my cue. Here are my efforts over the last few evenings.

First up we have ‘War and Peace’ by Leo Tolstoy:

 

When Neil walked into the kitchen to find me placing army men on a peace sign-shaped cake his words were "I’m not even going to ask". He may or may not have called me a "nutter" under his breath as he walked out; he denies this.

 

Next up, ‘Catch 22’ by Joseph Heller:

 

After sneaking a chocolate fish, Neil couldn’t help but get involved and suggested the next one, ‘Catch Me if you Can’ by Stan Redding and Frank Abagnale:

 

Then we have ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens:

 

This cake was quickly repurposed into a cake for Emily’s pre-school teachers (as a thank you for putting up with that ragamuffin). After much debate I opted to serve the cake without graters or figurines. Tough call.

 

The next two cakes require a disclaimer of sorts. I think Lorde is an inspiration, a huge talent, a striking girl. However I also think her name is just too hard to walk past for this particular exercise. So, Lorde, if you read this – a) I am flattered; and b) please don’t take this personally....

I present, with some trepidation, ‘The Lord of the Rings’ by J R R Tolkien:

 

And last, and quite possibly least, ‘Lord of the Flies’ by William Golding:

 

If this lands me in hot icing then I’m playing the April Fools’ Day card.

TTFN x

10 reasons why I love a Kiwi Christmas

In many ways a summertime Christmas seems absurd – even to those who have lived in the Southern Hemisphere all their lives. The funny thing is we smile nostalgically at the snowmen on our Christmas cards read outside in the sunshine, we hum along to ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’ in shops with the air conditioning blasting.

That said, here are ten reasons why I think a Kiwi Christmas is special/ unique/ amusing/ confusing/ crazy/ wonderful:

1)      Santa starts his journey in New Zealand

As a kid I remember feeling genuinely sorry for European kids ─ in much the same way one might pity starving kids in Africa ─ because Father Christmas didn’t get to them until the very end of his worldwide mission. I used to wonder if they’d get left with all the crappy toys at the end; clearly all the cool gifts ─ the slap-bang bracelets, fluffit pens, pogo balls and skip-its (I was a child of the 80s, remember) ─ would have gone in the stockings of kids in Taumarunui and Tirau, leaving those in Truro and Tromsø with stencils and dictionaries.

2)      Santa Parades

The quintessential Kiwi Santa parade generally features at least one of the following:

-          Kids risking being run over by marching bands, miniature ponies and trucks covered in tinsel, while they try to retrieve their twentieth toffee lolly in the middle of the street.

-          Parents elbowing their kids to the front, thinking that a festive grin and humming ‘Jingle Bells’ excuses their rudeness.

-          An officious old dear who believes her high vis vest and ‘crowd marshall’ badge gives her licence to overlook the entire happy reason for the event and lose all perspective in her efforts to get people to “keep behind the cordon please”.

-          Unanimous excitement (and relief) when the big man in red appears at the end, and the envy towards the fairy chosen to sit by Santa’s side (and we’re not just talking about the children; I’d be up on that sleigh in a tutu like a shot, given half a chance).

3)      Christmas in the park/on the field/in the street/on the beach

The beauty of Christmas in a warm climate is that it opens the door to outdoor Christmassy occasions. This year we went to the Road to Bethlehem, a fantastic living nativity story which involves walking from scene to scene as the Christmas story is acted out.  It struck me, somewhere between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, that Jesus’ birth may have happened in similar temperatures to New Zealand’s.  Turns out it was probably a fair bit cooler. According to Google, Jerusalem is a fresh 14 degrees at this time of year – “refreshingly cool” apparently.  Plus, global warming and all that.

4)      Pohutukawa trees

I remember the look on our American exchange student’s face when we explained that the pohutukawa is New Zealand’s Christmas tree. You could see her looking at it, trying to picture decorations hanging from its gnarled branches and flat leaves. Pohutukawa trees flower for such a short time, but when they do – about now – those bight crimson stamen immediately bring Christmas and beach holidays to mind. Early settlers apparently described them as “Antipodean holly” – I rather like that.

5)      Collision with end of school/work year

Many years ago, pre-children, Neil and I went to Paris in August and were thrilled to find central city parking was free for the entire month of August.  Apparently Parisians flee the city for their summer holiday. Everything shuts down. You could say it’s the same in New Zealand from about 20^th December until February. The regular newsreaders disappear for about six weeks. The PM legs it to Hawaii. You can’t get house repairs done for love nor money. It feels like there is a unanimous, unspoken pact not to do anything during this time, except lie on a beach and live off barbecued food and sauvignon blanc.

6)      Festive fare: turkey on the barbecue and berries on the pav

Growing up in New Zealand, we always celebrated Christmas with Mum’s and Dad’s families on the same day, so they’d be a lunch and a dinner, both of which usually comprised ham and salads. Truth be told, I’ve never been a big fan of cold meats ─ and I’d have to say I probably favour poultry over pig. So, the purchase of a barbecue with a rotisserie function was all it took to introduce the great Barback-qued Christmas turkey. The whirr of the rotisserie and the men lifting the barbecue lid to “check” it every ten minutes, is all part of this burgeoning tradition. And it tastes amazing.

Pavlova often makes it onto the Kiwi Christmas menu and this year will be no exception. I’m making one for this year and intend to load it with berries. Check out the boysenberries and strawberries we picked today in Papamoa!

7)      Contrived Christmas lights

Guy Fawkes night is ridiculous in New Zealand. It always brings a smile when at about 7.45pm, at the first faint signs of dusk, you hear fireworks going off, clearly set off by parents unable to wait for darkness any longer to appease their tired children. The same logic applies to Christmas lights. It was after 8.30pm when we returned from Road to Bethlehem, and we figured it was probably the latest - and therefore the darkest - we’d have the kids up at this time of year, so perfect timing for Christmas light hunting. But even then it was getting a little dim at best, and hard to get terribly excited about the few houses in Papamoa that had bothered to hang up a couple of strings of flashing lights and a neon Santa.

8)      But NYE makes sense

On the other hand, New Year’s Eve is best celebrated on a beach, any beach. New Zealand is the first country to see dawn break on the New Year and I’ve always derived a weird sort of geographical pride about that (except for the new millennium with that whole Y2K debacle when we all held our breath and hoped we’d stored enough tins of baked bins).

9)      Summer-themed presents under the tree

You can never have too many swing ball sets, inflatable pool toys or those gimmicky beach chairs that can hold your drink, phone and keys.

10)   And finally, baking.

It had to make it in here somewhere, this being a baking blog and all. Every year I participate in two Christmas baking feats. The first, the annual Christmas pud, is very traditional. It was always my Great Aunty Jean’s job, but now is my Uncle Bruce’s, and I am not-so-secretly vying for the sous-chef role. It’s a pretty straightforward chuck-it-all-in-and-stir process but it’s a lovely tradition, especially as the rum and the spices scent the air. I also love watching Dan and Emily’s immense concentration when they make a wish as they stir the pudding.

The second baking exploit is somewhat less traditional, for our family at least – the gingerbread house. If ever there was a reminder that I am still very much a rookie in the baking department, it is my gingerbread house construction. I was heartened, however, by Dan saying in the wake of my pavlova victory (see previous post) that our gingerbread house would win a competition. I love that he thinks I’m some sort of prize-chasing baker (which, if you consider that I entered NZHHB and the pavlova comp – twice – is not far from the truth!)

 

Anyway, this particular construction was destined for neither fame nor glory – rather, after sitting pride of place on the table for a couple of hours, it was quickly demolished. The kids somehow think that the usual rules of biscuits and other junk food don’t apply to the gingerbread house and they wander about non-chalantly and quite unashamedly munching on whopping great slabs of gingerbread.

Whatever your traditions, whether your Christmas involves ham, turkey, or nut roast, whether your house features a lit-up Rudolph or you take a more Grinch-like approach to decorations, wherever you celebrate, however you celebrate – I wish you all a very merry Christmas.

TTFN x

Pavlova triumph (or 'An eggsellent day')

Today I won 312 eggs. Fortunately not in one go (omelette, anyone?)  but rather half a dozen lovely free range chicken eggs each week for a year. Winning Big Wednesday would have probably been nicer, but even so, I was rather stoked with my poultry prize. But let’s back up a bit....

A few days ago I was flicking through the paper when I spotted a little ad for the Nosh pavlova competition. Ah yes, the great annual pavlova comp. I’d entered last year – naturally, as it was in the throes of my quest to become Baker Queen. I remember walking in with my sugary white concoction and placing it among what looked like a cover shoot for some meringue enthusiast magazine. I remember the lady saying condescendingly, “Well, I'm sure it tastes good, dear.” Unsurprisingly I didn’t hear back from Nosh. And they lost my platter.

This year, I was better prepared. Disposable tray at the ready, I set about making my pavlova creation: a three layered pav with homemade lemon curd cream and blueberries between each layer and on top. I made the pavlovas (pavlovai? plural of pavlova anyone?) last night but got tired of waiting for them to cool so left them in the oven overnight. This morning, before the school/pre-school run, I whipped and swirled and drizzled and generally felt quite Nigella-like (apart from the cocaine addiction bit of course) as I put the finishing touches and then I played my trump card:

“Neil, could you please enter this pavlova at the Nosh competition for me?”

I’d done my homework. Neil has Tuesday mornings off work (which, to digress for a second, is rather disconcerting to anyone who calls round our house at that time because, as I work from home, they are confronted with two, perfectly healthy, young, of-working-age professionals, seemingly childless, sitting at home on a Tuesday morning; you can almost see them fighting not to yell “dole bludgers!” at us). Normally Neil would be out cycling to prepare for the big Taupo bike race, but as the race was on Saturday (he did it in just over 5 hours – go Manlet!) he had no reason to be out on his bike again just yet.

Annnd, I knew he needed to go to sort out something for the kitchen at a shop just down the road from Nosh. See, homework – done. Some might call it manipulative and conniving. I call it well played.

So, poor Neil really had little choice to respond to my request with a dull “yes”, that reminded me of that guy from the DB Export ad (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwOxqBOYdiI ) which takes viewers back to the 1980s when beer was “out” and wine was “in” and a girl says to her partner, “Hey hon, want some wine?” to which her long suffering partner says in a pained voice, “yeees”.

For those who have no idea what I’m talking about (check out the ad link above - it's hilarious), suffice to say a little part of Neil's masculinity died as he trudged off to his car with a towering fruity meringue in tow.

That was the last I saw of my perky little pavlova, but he must have duly delivered it, because this afternoon I received the words anyone would be delighted to hear: “You’ve won a year’s supply of eggs”.

Yes, my pav came second. Music please. I hadn’t officially closed the door on my baking escapades, but I had let the oven gloves slide a bit farther in the drawer. My little eggy adventure has inspired me to get them out again.

 

 

 

TTFN x

It’s my daughter's party and I’ll feed Twisties to the kids and pastries and bubbly to the adults if I want to...

Ordinarily I love Bite, the New Zealand Herald’s foodie supplement that comes out every Monday. I like to pretend that I, too, will forage for mushrooms and make a hearty venison stroganoff, or whip up a hollandaise sauce for a leisurely eggs bene with the family.

My eyes lit up as I opened Bite a few weeks ago; it featured an article on catering for a little girl’s birthday party. How timely, I thought ─ me too!

But as I read the article and looked at the pictures of the table adorned with hydrangeas and orchard apples, the strings of homemade bunting, the homemade lemonade served in those achingly cool old-fashioned bottles with those retro red and white striped straws, the pastel macarons and cake pops, my delight slowly dissipated.

The reality of preparing for Emily’s third birthday party was somewhat different. Think classic Kiwi kid kitsch. Instead of homemade lemonade ─ Just Juice cartons. Instead of bunting ─ garish pink balloons. Instead of macarons ─ fairy bread, popcorn and Twisties. (As a quick digression, I was relieved to see they still make Twisties – for my British friends, they are sort of like Wotsits; they are the lurid orange morsels in the centre of the pic below. They also still make Burger Rings – I spent a good few minutes in the snack aisle of Pak n Save gazing nostalgically at the junk food of my childhood, trying to choose which I would lovingly pour into a bowl for my soon-to-be three-year-old and her friends, and ignoring the judgmental looks from other trolley pushers.)

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, children’s parties. Here’s what I have learned about kids’ parties. From about five years old and onwards, kids’ parties truly become kids’ parties. Upon receiving an invitation (and this is important – dropping your uninvited child at a party for a spot of free childcare is generally frowned upon) you can leave your child and gift with some poor frazzled parent who has agreed to turn their house into a pirate ship or fairy castle out of love (and a smidgen of peer pressure) for their little birthday sprog. There is no need for adult catering, or even a particularly gleaming house. There is no need to learn the names, occupations and interests of all your son’s friends’ parents. Sausage rolls and pass-the-parcel will suffice. Meanwhile, two hours later, the drop-off parent returns – filled with the warmth of coffee, shopping and alone time, maybe even with a sneaky haircut – to find their child, face-painted and cake-filled, sporting party bags, blowing those party whistle things, balloons tied to ears, shrieking that he also wants a monster truck that talks for his birthday.

Of course, this is how I imagine it will be, having not yet entered ‘drop off’ party zone yet; we’re still in the pre-school years (although this household will see a fifth birthday before the year is out!) A three-year-old’s party needs to be tolerable for the long-suffering parents who sacrifice their Saturday mornings to be dragged by their kids to these parties.

So, I decided whatever shortcuts I may have taken at the crisp aisle and bulk bins of Pak n Save for the kids, I would attempt to make up for with pastries for the adults. While I’m getting better at Danish pastries, they still took me a ridiculously long time to make, but worth it I think.  The savoury pastries and brioche featured feta, pesto, sundried tomatoes and spinach. Their sweeter equivalents had different combos of frangipane, dark chocolate, lemon curd and cream cheese.

 

 

The party was a success, which, considering we had fifteen kids and sixteen adults in our less-than-palatial house on a winter’s Saturday, was a relief.  A magician kept the kids (and adults!) entertained and the pastries went down really well ─ I was delighted to find them all gone at the end of the party... until Neil declared that he’d eaten six himself. While he meant this as a compliment, I had to explain the FHB rule to him for future reference – Family Holds Back.

One aspect of the party that I was never going to compromise on was, of course, the cake. I know some people favour the surprise-the-child approach to birthday cakes, but I love the build-up, the planning, the short-listing of potential cake candidates, the input into the design, and even the “help” in making it. For those of you who know Emily well, you will believe me when I say she was very involved in each of these stages. She chose several cake books from the library and then deliberated over their pages for several weeks. With some gentle dissuasion from a rather evil looking snake cake (what IS it with Emily’s love of snakes?!) and an extremely complicated Noah’s Ark masterpiece (a very accurate interpretation featuring virtually every creature two-by-two in fondant icing glory), she eventually settled on a fairy toadstool. Voilà!

 

And here is her somewhat less inspired cake for her pre-school party the day before.

 

And if anyone dares mention that the roses and butterflies look strangely similar on both cakes, I’ll have you know that is a result of my meticulous cake decorating skills. I would never repurpose fondant decorations from one cake to another.

Never.

TTFN x

Matariki meringues and other misadventures

If you have a little boy and a little girl helping you bake cupcakes, you can be certain there will be requests (translation: demands, usually accompanied by a stroppy foot stamp) for both blue and pink icing. I’m definitely looking forward to some more creative colour choices in the adolescent years (although perhaps not the black and purple teenage goth phase). For now, however, the only little bottles of food colouring I need to have in stock are blue and pink.

To be honest, I was relieved when Emily asked if we could make cupcakes this afternoon – she has had a cookie cutter or “shapes” obsession in recent weeks. So much so that when I hear those three words, “Let’s make shapes!” I can rustle up the ingredients in two seconds flat without even opening my trusty Edmonds cookbook to the Shrewsbury biscuit page, and before you know it we have ducks, dogs, T-Rexs and flowers (I have a rather eclectic selection of cookie cutters) all over the kitchen.

But not today; today was all about the cupcakes, which was rather fitting as the challenge on

New Zealand’s Hottest Home Baker was to make 100 cupcakes and assemble them into a structure that told a story. The contestants had to have a partner or friend to help make the cupcakes, and I couldn’t help but think how hilarious it would have been, if I had been on the show and brought Dan or Emily in as my helper. Could you imagine Colin Mathura-Jeffree’s face?

Perhaps it was a good thing this plan didn’t eventuate as here were the results of Dan and Em’s cupcakes.

 

 

 

Despite being fairly underwhelmed in the first few weeks, I’m really enjoying the Hottest Home Baker comp. I keep wanting to try my hand at the challenges each week, but in all seriousness when will I ever have a spare uninterrupted four hours to make a St. Honoré gateau? (I haven’t ruled it out yet though, so watch this space!)

Last week they made brioche and Danish pastries. Now, as you all know, I laugh in the face of brioche (*arrogant cackle*) as I make it all the time, but I’ve never had a go at Danishes, although I’ve made croissants a few times. It’s a timely exercise – rising and fridging (a verb I just invented then which means to take items in out of the fridge on a regular basis) of the pastry dough. Once the pastry had been folded and turned and fridged (loving my new verb; I see it becoming a culinary term used by pastry chefs all over the world) and rolled within an inch of its life I set about making all sorts of creations. I made an almond and apple braid; pain au chocolat; blue cheese, pear and pecan windmills; parmesan, sundried tomato and rocket envelopes; frangipane twists. It was all most excellent. Fridging delicious.

 

I didn’t see what the contestants have to produce next week – too busy quickly changing channels to Miranda (such a rockstar existence I lead) – but I guarantee you it won’t be these, which I took to Dan and Emily’s Matariki (Maori New Year) pre-school disco: meringue nests bought from Pak N Save, hurriedly filled with whipped cream, topped with decorations and edible glitter and thrown on a plate.

 

Until next time!
TTFN x

Chopsticks and Chutney

I’m actually nursing an indirect baking injury. I have a strand of steel wool embedded in my thumb nail – a result of some overzealous Steelo pan-scrubbing after my attempt at making spiced feijoa and date chutney left the bottom of the pan scarred with charred chutney.

Despite the damage done to my pan – and my thumb - the chutney is delicious. The long, hot summer has left the feijoas smaller but sweeter than other years, but as with our plum trees, I never know what to do with the hundreds of feijoas that our two trees produce. There’s only so many feijoas you want your two young children to eat, only so many feijoa crumbles you can guzzle. So I was pleased to hear of a chutney recipe that required two kilograms of the fruit. Basically, the chopped feijoas are boiled - skin and everything - with dates, chillis, ginger, limes, lemons, honey, apple cider vinegar and a whole host of spices and other goodies. Feeling very smug as I filled jar after jar with the stuff, I then confronted the inevitable question that probably faces every chutney, jam and preserve maker: what do I do with all these jars?

So far I’ve discovered my spiced feijoa and date chutney works well in baguette sammies, on crostinis with a slab of brie, and also as a filling for pinwheel scones. That’s three uses and approximately half a jar. Only six and a half to go. Any ideas? Any takers?

I’m well aware that this foray into feijoa is the first mention of baking to make its way onto the blog in a long time. I’ve been baking away of course, but nothing particularly new and adventurous and worth talking about...

...until our recent trip to Hoi An, Vietnam, where we went for the wedding of our good friends, Johanna and Aidan. It was an amazing, relaxing, hot, kids-free, friends-filled time spent in a culinary and shopping paradise. Suffice to say we had fun. Amid hen and stag parties and getting clothes tailored Neil and I found time to do a cooking class. While not strictly baking, it was definitely a different sort of kitchen experience and warrants a mention on this blog.

Having ventured into the pungent and noisy (think clucking chickens) Hoi An food market a few times, I was happy to forgo a trip to the market with the chef to pick the ingredients. I know this was opting out – I will clearly never be a Masterchef contestant - but once we found ourselves upstairs in the kitchen above the restaurant, with our lovely chef Lam, I was in my element. We made spring rolls, pork and prawn rice pancakes and a beef noodle soup (or pho).

As we begin our lesson, Neil informs Lam that I am an excellent cook. For a second I consider being humble and rejecting the praise, but then decide, no dammit, I’ll take it, I am awesome, thank you very much. For all Lam knows I could be Annabel Langbein on some intrepid, undercover mission. At this point Lam hands me a carrot and a peeler and I fumble with it like I’ve never held a peeler. Or seen a carrot. Very embarrassingly, Lam has to show me how to peel a carrot, while Neil smirks beside me. I’m fairly certain Lam worked out I wasn’t Annabel at that point. It seems pride does come before a fall, whatever language you’re talking.

I then tried to redeem myself with my deft knife handling and nifty wok work, but Lam did not seem particularly impressed. The end result was great, however – the spring rolls were especially delicious. Of course, the real test is being able to replicate at home, and my first attempt was not baaaaad, but I’m looking forward to having another bash.

Meanwhile, the ads for New Zealand’s Hottest Home Baker have started appearing and I must admit to overwhelming relief at not seeing myself on the screen, dropping cupcakes and whatnot. I am quite looking forward to being an armchair critic after all.

TTFN x

 

The Aston Martins of the cake world

1^st March marked the first day of autumn here in New Zealand. But at 31 degrees, with not a cloud in sight, it is clear that summer is showing no signs of relenting just yet. What a summer! It has become the sort of season where jumpers and jeans have gone into complete disuse, the sort where you get dressed in summery clothes before even looking outside, such is the certainty that the sun will be beating down. The last time it rained was about four weeks ago - for approximately 8 minutes. It hasn’t been so long since I’ve abandoned the gumboots of my childhood that I don’t feel for the dairy farmers facing a drought, though.

The 1^st March was significant. It was my second cousin Chelsea and her fiancé Craig’s wedding day. Beautiful day, beautiful bride, beautiful event. And, as this is a baking blog, beautiful cake.

Wedding cakes are the Aston Martins of the cake world. A chance for truly gifted bakers to really show off. Chelsea and Craig’s cake was exquisite – a tower of meringues.

It got me thinking back to our wedding cake (made by Sue Pedley – family friend and gifted cake maker): three gorgeous white tiers, each a different flavour, each separated by layers of strawberries and red roses. Again, exquisite.

It makes me wonder, if I keep it up, my pursuit of baking excellence, will I ever be capable of making something so amazing? I’m beginning to think the self-taught method (i.e. devouring cook books like novels) may have its limitations, and that perhaps there may be a reason why brilliant pastry chefs have usually undergone extensive training. Having said that, I have many friends who simply have a knack and a passion for baking and produce works of art.

I may be lacking in knack, but have plenty of passion! Check out my recent birthday cake attempts. Here is the cake I made for Neil’s 31^stbirthday. Somewhat lacking in theme (I had considered a bike cake in honour of his newfound cycling obsession but ruled it out on the grounds of difficulty and lack of time), but given his advancing years (31 - blimey!) I thought understated might be best. After all, is there any birthday more insignificant than the 31^st? It’s not a big round number, you’ve just had a big party last year, you’re launching out into the wilderness of those middle decades... 

 

Hmm, if my wedding cake was an Aston Martin, this was probably a Toyota Corolla. The observant among you will have spotted the embossed icing – yes, new cake decorating toy. I got to use it again a few weeks later when making my cousin Renée’s birthday cake. Renée turned 12 – a decidedly more exciting age! Pink and girly was the order of the day and I was thrilled to oblige. Here was the result...

 

Hmm, Volkswagen Golf? Birthday cakes aside, I’ll be honest: the sunshine and the busy humdrum of work and kids has kept me out of the kitchen lately and my baking output has been rather pitiful. However, I did whip up these lemony-coconutty-passionfruity little cakes for afternoon tea today. Fortunately my icing bowl lickers weren't far away...

 

Perhaps with the new season will come a surge of productivity.  We’ll see.

TTFN x