#CookingwithHJ

For some time now, I have been trapped in a sort of long-term ‘Domestic Goddess Internship’; a bastard of a journey, long hours and unpaid - but ultimately, if you make it, a springboard into glory. 

Now, following that nicely shoehorned metaphor, I shall share with you some of my nuggets - nay, pearls - of wisdom that have been garnered by what can only be described as ‘cocking up a storm in the kitchen’. 

To set the scene, it was a quiet June evening. The Boyfriend was in bed with a headache, and I - having just devoured the latest copy of Waitrose Kitchen - was rallied with a false sense of potential and desire to offer something to relieve said headache of my beloved. 

Obviously, I felt the entire enterprise should be broadcast out via Twitter, 140 agonising characters at a time.

NB: Apologies to the The River Cottage for failing to faithfully follow their recipe for ‘Almond Tart with Strawberries’. 

Culinary supremacy does not come without its costs. Mostly to my pride and clean work surfaces. Hereby follows HJ’s Twenty-Four Step Guide to Bastardising a Flan.

1: Begin to prep pastry _before_ realising you not have a ‘flan’ tin-thing. Make do w/tin substantially lacking in diameter #CookingwithHJ

2: Since overcoming the recent battle to check full list of ingredients, begin to prep filling before checking the _amounts_ needed 

3: Get so engrossed in making filling, forget to take baking pastry from oven. #CookingwithHJ

4: Whilst Boyfriend headachy, begin screeching b/c usual oven gloves are in wash, & clean alien gloves don’t open oven door. #CookingwithHJ

5: Hot ovens are hot. Avoid pushing tray back into oven with bare hand. #CookingwithHJ

6: Having salvaged mostly edible remains of pastry base, spill ‘shape-forming baking beans’ across counter and floor. #CookingwithHJ

7: Realise you have started on a 3 hour baking mission at 8pm. #CookingwithHJ

8: Mid-mixing, realise you lack enough key ingredient. Run out into street covered in flour & wearing polka-dot pinny. #CookingwithHJ

9: On street, remember you’re still wearing slippers, & forgot your purse, before haring up to corner shop for ingredient. #CookingwithHJ

10: At corner shop, be greeted by, “Oh god, what are you cooking now?! Going badly, huh?’ #CookingwithHJ

11: Substitute unsalted butter w/salted butter. Hope for best. #CookingwithHJ

12: Once bastardised version of River Cottage’s strawberry & almond flan in oven, completely forget what time ‘baking’ began. #CookingwithHJ

13: Wipe icing sugar off face. Review wreckage of kitchen counter, inc. washing pile. #CookingwithHJ

14: Open gin bottle. Forget everything. #CookingwithHJ

15: Drop iPhone in leftover mixture. Lick iPhone. #CookingwithHJ

16: Where possible, work with ancient and cantankerous gas oven, which doesn’t keep a constant temp. thru-out. #CookingwithHJ

17: Return to gin glass. If it wasn’t meant to rise, it has now. #CookingwithHJ

18: When checking on progress, absent-mindedly turn off gas. Sit down for 20 minutes. #CookingwithHJ

19: On opening & reheating oven, allow smoke to pour into kitchen. Start fanning back-door furiously, to avoid smoke alarms/boyfriend going mental. #CookingwithHJ

20: Stand back, and enjoy stifled choking and forced murmerings of ‘Mmm.’ #CookingwithHJ

21: (Stood alone in kitchen) Consistency test: “It’s crunchy. Flans aren’t meant to be crunchy.” #CookingwithHJ

(From @richxphotog: if it’s crunchy, it’s gone past flan; it is now a tart.)

22: If in doubt, take most edible slab (salvaged from charred entity) & take to the office w/ an air of effortlessly victorious domestic goddess. #CookingwithHJ


23: Cover creation with two punnets of strawberries in a valiant effort to hide colour/texture inconsistencies. #CookingwithHJ

24: In office, pass round single cream to ‘take the edge off’ crunchiness. 

And there, reader, you have it. Total incompetency, stubborn determination and a feigned expression of delight at end result is all you will need to recreate this crunchy fruit tart. 

To close, I should share with you this gem from @richxphotog: 

@HJFantaskis Sounds like you’ve invented your own genre of pudding. A fruit quiche niche, if you will. 

Praise indeed. 

Addled with fail? Probably.

I am partial to few good adjectival phrases like, ‘riddled with gin’. Today’s adjectival phrase of choice is, ‘addled with fail’.

I suppose you could argue that this superlative usage could not be applied to the proceedings of my day. Perhaps I should refer to it as Largely Bi-Polar. 

And so, dear, darling reader, I shall leave the outcome of my day to your good judgement. 

This morning, I woke up - without my alarm set - on time. This is good. 

Ambling downstairs, I find my father making tea. Upon the arrival of The Mothership, I propose breakfast, and there’s much  banter as I prepare and burn an omlette. This is good. 

I get ready for my interview in London, and am ready in good time. Dad offers his taxi services but he takes half an hour to be ready and out the door. It is now 10.55, my interview begins at 12. It takes me 55 minutes door-to-door. This is bad. 

Arriving in Oxford Circus at 11.50, I meet Lovely Eliza from boticca, who gives me my beautiful Little Glass Clementine necklace - a delivery that has been delayed by an un-named weekly glossy (don't ask). This is good (the delivery, not the delay).

Little Glass Clementine

From Oxford Circus, my new, 5 day old, case-less, iPhone 4 provides me with directions to my interview location. This is good. 

I arrive on time, just, but still with my jeans on and my flat boots. My beautiful silk embroidered skirt from Coast (painstakingly preserved for the journey in bags and tissue), and Old Favourites stilettos will have to remain in my bag. This is bad.

The interview (sought-after industry specific business mentoring programme - not a job) goes well. An hour of questioning and some fairly well-constructed but leading answers on my part, they tell me yes, I have a place. This is good. 

They ask me for my trading address. My trading address is in Bristol. They tell me no, I don’t have a place. My trading address is not in London. This is bad.

I receive a message from a friend nearby, and we meet for a London Power Catch Up. He buys me a coffee, which I suspect is particularly because I look rough as arseholes. This is good (the catch up, not my aesthetic). 

I get a text from The Mothership, informing me I’ve left my Bristol keys at Taskis Towers (Chez Taskis and Casa Taskis have fallen from popular usage - where ‘popular’ means me). This is bad.

Getting on my coach, I take a brief, but wholly satisfying call from my best friend. She informs me she is baking a cake. This is good.

Splendid Cake

My coach pulls into Bristol and I head straight a local, friendly curry house. I am handed a beautifully brewed spiced chai masala tea, with a healthy dollop of Golden Syrup. This is good. 

Since my boyfriend is shortly due to arrive for dinner, I decide to change out of my jeans and into my skirt and stilettos in the spirit of ‘making an effort, because I fancy you’. This is good.

Changing, I hear a *clunk, crack*. My iPhone, 5 days old, has vacated my pocket and fallen to the tiled floor of the bathroom. The glass screen is shattered. This is bad. 

Sad iPhone

Despite the dismay and disappointment from the day (and my new found rhyming skillz), I begin to discuss some Fantaskis-grown plans for the future of ethical fashion in Bristol over dinner (delicious lentil dahl & chicken tikka masala). This is good. 

So, what do you think, reader? Addled with fail? Distinctly bi-polar? Gaining less than I have lost? In need of a dose of MTFU?

I am going to sleep as soon as possible to avoid anymore catastrophes. Tomorrow I will visit the Apple Store in search for a resolution. My pride, I think, will take longer to repair. And a relocation to London, perhaps longest of all.