One month and four years ago, I embarked on post-University life with only one mission in mind: To bake a cake. My epicurean activator and muse extraordinaire, Baneeya, had taken to seducing my oven-phobic Indian kundi with sugary dreams. My sweet tooth ached with longing, and whiffs of freshly-baked moistness, simply slathered in cream, haunted my every waking move. After tearing my diploma out of some dude's grip and shaking Ian Handsome-man-singh's hand for a second too long, I got the hell out of Dodge and rode into Baneeya's city with my life's belongings and a one-way ticket to the Middle East.
What followed was a blissed out week of friends, goodbyes, trivial pursuit marathons, drunken arm-wrestling, and eating cake for dinner. While playing sous to her chef, Baneeya guided me through the various intricacies of baking a perfect triple-layered carrot/maple/ginger concoction. Something like this. Evidently, I'm still talking about that cake.
My culinary skills have improved since then. I now fall closer to the "knows what she's doing" marker, as opposed to "fumbling". But I am nowhere near chef status. And I need another lesson in baking. Slippery slope, that. I can't bake on the regular lest I give myself and my loved ones coronary disease. A special occasion is needed.
Baneeya says:
I'm hoping to take a train to T.O. on Thurs. Aug. 16th.
Actually, I just realized that what we should do is make another cake!! We'll make a feast!
I recently created a peach-avocado-serrano chili salsa to eat with grilled chicken, fish, or just nay-chose. Delicious. Also, I made strawberry icecream yesterday...
Good lord. Like being taken to church by a sinner.
Labels: Me and Mine
