Hey Gwen ... wanna see my muffins?

Author's note: Since posting I've received a few messages from people saying they can't see the full post :( Apologies to anybody experiencing the same problem, being technologically challenged I simply don't have a clue what the issue is or how to fix it ... it seems you need to click on the actual post link (ie click on the post title) to be able to view it properly ... that works for me, anyway. If you still can't view it, let me know and I'll try re-posting it. Sorry folks x


'ello!

I know, two posts in one week, eh? I can almost hear that annoying French lady in the Ferrero Rocher adverts exclaiming "Ah Madame, Wiz ze blog posts yuh ah spoiling uz!"

The thing is my "Cake in the Community" care parcel arrived (Brief recap: the truly scrumptious Gwen posted about making Red Velvet Cake, which you can read here, I was intrigued and asked for the recipe but Gwen went one better and offered to send me a cake mix, which of course I eagerly and gratefully agreed to, having seen the ridiculously lengthy and complicated "make it from scratch" recipe) all the way from St Louis, and in record time! Gwen only sent it last week and given the general pantsness (hey! that COULD be a word!) of postal services these days I wasn't really expecting it until, oh, I dunno, 2011.

So imagine my squeaky glee when the postman delivered a parcel with my name on it!

First I had to deal with the Spanish Inquisition (Ha! Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! ... you know I had to do it, right?) i.e. my family, who wanted to know why I was receiving parcels from America, what was in the parcel (well if you STFU and let me open it you'd find out a whole lot quicker), who had sent me the parcel, was it a man or a woman (I could see my Mother planning an international wedding in her head) and had I joined some kind of religious cult.

So a couple of hours later ... I finally got to open my box of delights

Oooh!

The Swiss Family Manson crowded round to take a better look at the goodies within, but seeing a lovely mauve envelope in the bottom of the box I pounced on that first and sure enough it was a cool card from Gwen with a picture of the McDonalds sign the beautiful Gateway Arch on the front.


Here's what she wrote (click on the pic to see it in its full glory ... oh, and in case you're wondering, the picture is of the Armadillo groom's cake from Steel Magnolias, a classic example of Red Velvet Cake ... and not some grotesque animal autopsy) I heart this card, doesn't she have the coolest handwriting? ...


So on to the contents of the box ... this is what me and my mother and grandfather saw first ...

... I only wish I'd had a camera handy to capture the look on their faces.

Grandfather: But why is it ... er, urgent?


Haha! And it got better ...

... clearly Gwen has heard of my notorious baking reputation


Next came the all important chocolate mouse poo (as mentioned in the card) ...


... by this stage in the proceedings there was nary a whisper from the folks, I think they'd witnessed more f-bombs than they'd seen in weeks, if not months, chuckling quietly to myself and reflecting on the fact that silence IS golden in some situations I reached for the next delicious item ...


... Cupcake dicks? thought I, somewhat perplexed.


And finally, the lovely and ever-thoughtful Gwen had even sent the muffin cups! She'd literally thought of everything! (sadly, no f-bomb on these ... Americans must take their baking cups extremely seriously)
*Really wish I'd overcome laziness and given myself a French manicure now


Anyway, I could hardly wait to start baking, which no doubt would stun anybody who knows me into shocked silence. (I'm quite a good cook but I don't have a very good history where baking is concerned, invariably if I attempt to make cakes I end up telling friends that I made biscuits. Very flat, slightly grey biscuits. But that's better than very flat, slightly grey cake, right?)

So I got all my ingredients together, cake mix, vegetable oil, eggs and water and chucked it all in a bowl carefully beat it all together as directed and ooh'ed and aah'ed as the mixture turned a vibrant shade of red ...

Once the cake mixture was ready it was time to transfer it to the cups. This is an especially tricky stage if you suffer from a mild form of OCD; the compulsive urge to allot exactly equal amounts of mixture to each cup and to avoid at all costs any unsightly spills means that it can take a very (very) long time.

Ahem.

There was also a scary moment when I'd filled 12 cups and had another 12 to go, but on looking at the bowl I realised that its contents hadn't seemed to have decreased in volume one little bit! You know in the film "Jaws"? The "We're gonna need a bigger boat" scene? It was just like that.

In the end I filled 30 muffin cups.

That's a lot of muffin.

Next I popped them in the oven and was soon tormenting my family with the mouth-watering smell of freshly baking cake mixture. The house smelled just like you imagine those posh, show-home places they feature in magazines like "Country Living" and "House & Garden". All I needed was a twin-set, a cute little apron and a lobotomy and I could have been mistaken for one of those 50's housewife types.


Ping! 19 minutes later they were done to perfection (well, they weren't badly burnt or flat) ...



Then they had to cool. Do you know how hard it is to resist hot, delicious, freshly baked muffins?

Me either ... I just thought "Sod it!" and ate one. Self control is for ... people who aren't me. And I'm glad I did, because it was totally lush. Really light and moist, it just melted in my mouth. Almost like somebody who was really good at baking had made it, instead of me.

Once cooled it was time to add the cream cheese frosting (my Grandfather says I should give up any dreams I might have once cherished about being a plasterer) ...

... like my groovy cow cookie jar? (I'm thinking now that maybe I should have tidied up before I took these pics)


Next came the delicious "chocolatey mouse poo" sprinkles. It was at this stage that I came to understand exactly why the cream cheese frosting was so "fucking urgent" ... apparently unless you add the sprinkles straight after you've slapped on the frosting, the surface dries and your sprinkles have nothing to adhere to, leaving you futilely trying to get your mouse dropping to stick instead of just rolling straight off the top of the muffin and making you swear like Gwen a trooper and shouting "GAH!" a lot.

Finally though, I was all sprinkled out ...


At the end of a long but satisfying couple of hours it was time to relax and reap the fruits of my labour with a nice cup of tea and a copy of Steel Magnolias on dvd ...


In between blubbing at the sad bits in the film and stuffing my sticky little face with gooey muffins, I raised my teacup in salute to gorgeous Gwen who had single-handedly, and at an impressive distance of several thousand miles, given me an evening of fun and laughter (with the odd patch of sniffly, girly, sobbing).

So thank you, Gwen :) the only thing that could have made it more fun was if you'd been here too x





Ps: Bet you thought I'd forgotten the groovy little cupcake picks (not dicks as previously thought) ... not a chance. Here's some I put on a plate, ready to entice my family members and anybody else who happened to visit ... don't they look fun AND yummy?

And since I didn't realise it was my new blog-chum Jerrod's birthday until after the event, I designated one particularly fine muffin as being especially in his honour.

Happy belated birthday, Jerrod!

Come on in & make yourself at home (try not to steal anything) ...

Hello, blog lovelies! Hope July is treating you well and that all is fine and dandy with you and yours.

My good chum Mr Condescending tagged me in his latest post, which you can view here. Apparently we're all invited to his mock-Tudor mansion for a party ... isn't that nice of him? (no puking on the oak beams, please). He's cordially said we can snoop through his book shelves (he only reads Playboy for the "articles", apparently), rifle through his dvd collection (I have no idea what "Three's Company" is, I'm a little confused about why there's SIX people on the covers, but I'm sure it will prove to be amusing ... after we've cleaned out his booze cabinet) and gorge ourselves on the finest food and drink in NYC (I'm trying not to be too upset about the shellfish stew which will KILL ME).

Anyway ... nice gesture, huh?

Well, it would be, if it wasn't for the fact that there's a big ol' stipulation attached that says anybody partaking of his magnanimous hospitality then has to throw a similarly big party (in his honour, no doubt ... doesn't he seem just the type who would demand his very own throne to sit on? While he condescendingly mocks the rest of us and takes multiple photos of our fat bums and dodgy-yet-comfy sportswear when we're not looking, just so he has post material for his blog-theatre of cruelty?).

To be honest, I was tempted to say no at first. I figured I'd just go along, drink all his booze, mock his dvd's, chuck a TV out of a window and then disappear into the night like a super-cool rock star type.

But then I thought ... "Hmm! Why not?" After all, July is the perfect month for summer parties, I've just sold a kidney on e-Bay so I'm a bit flush in the old pocket ... and it would give me something semi-fun to post about.

So ... you're all invited to my place! Woohoohooo! Partaay!


By the way, you'll recognise my house by the colourful "Happy Bar Mitzvah" balloons (aren't jumble sales fab?) and the 20 ft inflatable Santa on the roof (it seemed like a good idea ... at Christmas)


Please wipe your feet before you come in ...



Watch out for the vicious guard dog (a terrifying mix of Wookiee, Womble & Yorkshire Terrier) ...




Now, before we get this party started, Mr Condescending has demanded a guided snout round (nosey bugger), for a start he wants to know what my favourite books are. (This actually drove me mad, I'm a fanatical bibliophile and have hundreds of books all over the house, it was practically impossible to narrow it down to one shelf) Anyway, er, here's a selection ...



... I know Girl With The Pink Teacup will be thrilled and proud to see that I have the big, hardback copies of Harry Potter

... historical biographies and fantasy fiction (could I be a bigger geek? I think not)


I had a similar problem with films *gives Mr C the evil eye* (I'd give him the "Finger of Death" if I knew how to do it)

There's just too many to choose from ...


Here are a few faves (although a lot of my absolute favourite films are not included here ... frankly, I was just too lazy to sort them all out) ...


I'll just leave you to have a look through them for a couple of minutes whilst I go and tell Diane, Vic and Dominica to stop jumping on the beds ...


Ok, I'm back, now let's crack on with the party, I thought we'd have it in the garden (mind the wheelie bin) ...



By the way, whilst I agree that it's not a party until something gets broken, please could you try NOT to break the good stuff ... I have a whole cupboard full of tacky old tat given to me over the course of several birthdays/Christmas' by my ex's mother, if you'd like something destructible to chuck around.

Oh, and the plants are strictly for decoration ... please don't try to smoke them (yes, I'm looking at you John Smith and Prunella).


Now, "What's for dinner?" I hear you ask eagerly.

Well you won't be getting traditional English food, that's for sure. It's ok, but quite heavy and stodgy and not very exciting in my opinion. Plus, I think some of my US guests might find the inclusion of such things as "Toad in the Hole" and "Spotted Dick" on the menu as a bit off-putting. Quite understandable.

My tastes in food are quite Mediterranean, I like lots of different dishes for people to pick and choose from, pasta in lovely light sauces, creamy risottos, plenty of fresh vegetables and salads with spicy dressings, a banquet of cheeses, warm bread, plump little olives and of course, plenty of wine.

If you like that kind of thing then I heartily recommend this book to you ...


It's a true account of an American lady's experience of buying and renovating an old farm house in Cortona, Italy. Whilst I didn't particularly enjoy the main narrative I did love the simple and delicious recipes she includes as part of the book, traditional dishes that she learned from the local people such as Pea and Shallot Bruschetta, Semolina Gnocchi, Rich Polenta Parmigiana, Sage Pesto, Hazlenut Gelato and Cherries Steeped in Red Wine. Mmmmmm!


Hang on a second though! Why don't you have a drink yet?

There's red or white wine for the more discerning palates, and vodka, which I'll use to make Sea Breeze cocktails later (one part vodka, one part pink grapefruit juice, three parts cranberry juice, served over ice in a tall glass with a slice of lime)


Hey! I can see those nervous glances! Don't worry ... there IS more alcohol than this! (Sheesh! Big bunch of lushes!) Oi! Mo Stoneskin! (or should we call you Mr Albali now?) I've told you before about guzzling the cooking sherry!

Er ... can somebody please take those balloons away from Dr Zibbs? ... you might want to wait until he's got his clothes on again first :/ (BTW - does anybody know why he came dressed like Corey Feldman and keeps saying "Hee Hee, Jamon!" in a high pitched voice?)


Anyway, inspiration for tonight's menu has come courtesy of these two books ...



By way of a starter there will be English Onion Soup with Sage & Cheddar ...


Or, Sweet Pear & Apple Salad with Bitter Chicory and a Creamy Blue Cheese Dressing ...



Or, Tortelloni di Spinaci with Sugo al Burro e Pomodoro (Spinach in ickle pasta parcels with a butter and tomato sauce, lightly sprinkled with parmesan) ...


For main course there will be a Italian Ham & Spinach Tart ...


and Baked Cauliflower & Broccoli Cannelloni ...


or Hot Smoked Salmon with Chilli Salsa ...



For dessert there'll be Tray Baked Meringue with Pears, Cream, Toasted Hazelnuts & Chocolate Sauce (well you knew there had to be chocolate in there somewhere)



or Eton Mess (meringue, cream and strawberries ... just so you can say you had something traditionally English as well as uber-yummy) a real summer classic


Apologies for the quality of the pictures, I know they're a bit pants, I considered actually making all the dishes and getting better shots, but I couldn't be arsed to go to the supermarket to get the ingredients. Or to do the cooking bit.

Oh! And there might also be Red Velvet Cake muffins if I get my care package from gorgeous Gwen in time ... in which case there will be a cheesey sob-fest tribute at some point in the evening, where we will stuff our happy little faces with cake whilst watching Steel Magnolias and speaking in the manner of one of its many, glorious characters ... but you can't be Clairee (already bagged by me) or Ouiser (to be played to perfection by Gwen).

For entertainment I've arranged the following:

• The Jules (Happy Belated Birthday to him btw) will present us with a slideshow of all the fascinating places he's travelled to and mocked, snappily titled "Around Selected Parts of the World in Considerably More Than 80 Days".
• Wordsx3 is going to give a fascinating insight into the mind of a frustrated and much copied (allegedly *cough*) creative genius, entitled "Dude! Where's My Kudos?"
  
• Trinity is giving a monologue on his personal interpretation of art, entitled "Every Picture Should Have An Amusing Moustache In It"
  
• And finally there will be a breathtaking fireworks display (well, sparklers) at the end of the night (*Note to self: Make sure Kristine does indeed wait in the van and is NEVER left alone with the cat and the fireworks at any point in the evening).

Anyway, top up your drink, grab a plate of food and go mingle with the other guests. Go! Shoo! No peeing in the pot plants though, no staring at Cora (who is on MY team if we play Pictionary) and her fella, Scope if they start making out in the corner ... actually, no molesting folks in any way ... unless you're specifically asked to ... in which case, get a room! But not MY room. And stay out of my underwear drawers.

If there's any bad behaviour then Lopez is going to make you drop and give her twenty ... you have been warned!

Now then, who's up for a game of naked Twister?

A little sexism, anyone? ...

Ok ... so before I get started on today's post, here are the results of the little quiz type thing I had in my last post with regards to who writes better sex scenes in novels, men or women.


Extract A was from "The First Casualty" by Ben Elton

"Ooh-la-la!' she breathed as he smelled the clean aroma of her short bobbed hair and the rain-sodden grass around it.

'Oooh-la jolly well-la!' And so they made love together in the pouring rain, with Nurse Murray emitting a stream of girlish exclamations which seemed to indicate that she was enjoying herself. 'Gosh', 'Golly' and, as things moved towards a conclusion, even 'Tally ho!'

When it was over she pushed him off, stood up and lit a cigarette. It was still too dark to see anything but the glow of the burning tip, and by the way that was moving about Kingsley sensed that she was buttoning herself up.

'Jolly nice,' she said, 'most invigorating.'

He started off fairly promisingly as a comedy writer in the 80's for programmes such as The Young Ones and Blackadder and was a successful "alternative" stand-up with a fondness for Thatcher jokes. But his brand of humour left with the 80's and Mrs Thatcher and he now alternates between writing laughable novels and dodgy West End musicals.

Journalist, Toby Young summed him up with the following quote: "Ben Elton. Do you know this guy? He started out as an "alternative" comedian, railing against Thatcherism and the like, and now earns a fortune writing the librettos for truly awful West End musicals. I mean, his name has become a byword for shameless hackery. He's the biggest sell-out of his generation"



Extract J was from "Mr MacGregor" by Alan Titchmarsh

She planted moist, hot kisses all over his body. Beads of sweat began to appear on Guy's forehead as he became more entangled in the lissome limbs of this human boa constrictor. For fully 15 minutes their mutual passion heightened, with groans, sighs and liquid noises.

Grannies favourite, Mr Titchmarsh is best known for being a TV gardener, which somewhat shows in his writing and goes towards explaining "planted moist", "entangled in the lissome limbs" and "liquid noises" ... you can almost smell and hear the wellies and mud.

Wikipedia tells me that the man who puts the "Tit" in Titchmarsh actually won an award for worst sex scene in a book with the above excerpt.

I don't think anybody's going to be wildly surprised by that.




Extract H was from "The Stone Gods" by Jeanette Winterson

We made love by our fire, watching the snow shape the entrance to the cave. When I touch her, my fingers don't question what she is. My body knows who she is. The strange thing about strangers is that they are unknown and known.

There is a pattern to her, a shape I understand, a private geometry that numbers mine. She is a maze where I got lost years ago, and now find the way out. She is the missing map. She is the place that I am. She is a stranger. She is the strange that I am beginning to love.

Oh dear, Ms Winterson, probably best known for her novel "Oranges are not the only fruit" lets the ladies side down with this dreary, lacklustre and passionless excerpt. But at least there are no dubious liquid noises or jolly Tally Ho'ing going on, which is always a literary bonus in my opinion.


Two people got it spot on, Fancy Schmancy and PrincessImp ... so very well done to them! I'm not sure it answers the big question of whether men write better sex scenes than woman, but it does suggest that women are better at spotting a man's cackhanded attempt at describing carnal passion.


Still vaguely on the subject of the battle of the sexes, I was trawling the good old internet for some post inspiration when I came across the following vintage advertisements. Now I wouldn't call myself a feminist, I'm all for equality but there's zero danger of me burning my bra any time soon (being nearly 30 and gravity make that a BIG no, no) ... but these ads were frankly a bit shocking! And it has to be admitted, rather amusing. So of course I thought of my beloved readers straight away, "This will be right up their twisted little alleys" I chuckled fondly to myself ... so here we are. (Unfortunately I've had to squidge the pics right down in size to fit them on the page ... click on them to see the captions)



So first up, no messing around or worrying about anything as silly as delicate, female sensibilities ... Men are better than women!

Yes, apparently not only did our male ancestors like to spend their spare time casually chatting at the top of a mountain, they liked to do it whilst dressed in traditional Tyrolean garb and nonchalantly dangling some poor female from a hanging thread of their rapidly unravelling Drummond climbing sweater.

Women, the ad informs us, are all very well INDOORS, pleasant even! But a bit of a drag on a mountain.











This classic little gem tells us that failed marriages were not, as we once suspected, due to a husband's ambitious preoccupation with his career, his golf clubs or his nubile young secretary, but rather because wives were not paying due care and attention to their "dainty feminine allure".

Never fear though ... help was at hand, thanks to those ever-fragrant, marriage savers at Lysol. Their douches insured feminine daintiness "even in the presence of mucous matter" and promised to protect marriages with "no greasy after effect"

*Editor's note: You will lose kudos points if you use the phrase "something fishy" in your comments










Ladies in the 60's liked their men to blow in their faces ... I guess some things never go out of fashion ..


















This one actually made me gasp out loud (GOL?) ... if you can't see the original text, it says:

"Though she was a tiger lady, our hero didn't have to fire a shot to floor her. After one look at his Mr Leggs slacks, she was ready to have him walk all over her. That noble styling sure soothes the savage heart! If you'd like your own doll-to-doll carpeting, hunt up a pair of these he-man Mr Leggs slacks"


















I'm just surprised the number of mariticide's wasn't sky high in those days ...


















Actually, I don't entirely disapprove of this one :P ...















Boy, oh boy, oh boy ...



















Haha ... look at her grinning through gritted teeth, she's just dying to smush his face in that blender ...















I wonder what those women think when they look back at these ads? ... If they're not all dead from lung cancer after having all those men blowing in their faces, of course ...












Sheesh ... talk about a wish list! Although I must admit to crying every time I try to use my mum's electric can opener and have to stand there in helpless frustration as the tin whirls round and round with no apparent sign of ever opening.




















I've never understood the really militant feminists types, but I'm guessing it was this kind of thing that got them all boiling mad. Maybe they'd had enough of being dangled precariously off of mountains and trying to maintain that crucial feminine daintiness, they didn't want to be walked over by men in crisp, natty Mr Legg slacks or made to wear ridiculous chef's hats whilst lovingly blending their husband's dinners. Maybe they had a point. Attitudes needed to change and I'm glad they have.

But I'm still not going to burn my bra.