Sunday, 19 December 2010

Rocky Road To Ruin

You know, it turns out that despite the fact that nobody ever comments, people do actually read this blog. I learned this when I came home from university. Of course, people at Robinson read it, but I attributed that to a combination of my constantly going on about it on Facebook, and the fact that most of them have witnessed the results of my cooking first-hand. But when I came home, people started talking to me about it. Some, of course, mentioned my culinary output in the same breath as 'which is why I've informed Environmental Health', but others seemed almost (almost) admiring. You poor, deluded fools. Now you've encouraged me! Reader, continue in the knowledge that you have only yourselves to blame.

Anyway, the upshot of all this blogging tomfoolery is that my father, who is my friend on Facebook (something of a mixed bag - keeping in contact is good, your parents knowing that your friends call you 'Two-Drinks Winebold' due to your legendary low alcohol-tolerance somewhat less so) showed my dear mama the results of my cooking adventures, who was somewhat horrified by what her middle-born had been producing. Long story short, she keeps muttering darkly about recipes and teaching me to cook simple things, the first of which turned out to be this Rocky Road biscuit, or, as it is known in my family (somewhat less poetically, it must be confessed), Fridge Cake. This really is my sort of cooking. As far as I can understand the process, all you do is melt chocolate, butter and condensed milk together in a bowl, jam in whatever you have to hand (marshmallows, cherries, biscuits, raisins, small children, the meaning of life, the book of Job...the list is endless) and then shove it in the fridge for a bit. I mean, you get a cake and there's literally no cooking required. It's genius. What's more, people actually seemed to like it. I mean, I thought it was a bit disgusting, but a family friend was visiting and ate three pieces. Actually, thinking about it, we haven't heard from him since, but I'm still considering that a result.

So, ratings-wise, the rocky road scores rather well.

Tastiness - 5/10 - Everyone but me liked it. I don't know why I didn't, particularly. Probably just sheer bloody-mindedness.
Likeliness to set off a fire alarm -0/10 - No cooking, as I said. NO COOKING!
Likeliness to cause a fatal coronary, 20 years down the line - 8/10 - There was a lot of chocolate involved. Having said that though, surely the cherries offset it a bit?

But despite this apparent success, I can't help but feel somewhat...unfulfilled. It's as though I'm having a kind of cooking mid-life crisis. I've mastered a basic, I should be happy with what I have...but instead I find myself dyeing my hair and jetting off to the Continent with an office temp called Sandra. Figuratively speaking, this is. I have found myself thumbing through cookery books, dreaming and yearning, yearning and dreaming. Surely this can only end in acrimony and despair? Or is this the dawn of a bright culinary future? Do let me know.


  1. Lotte, I find your culinary mid-life crisis perfectly understandable considering you were cooking something using marshmallows. It has long been my opinion (although the rest of the world does not appear to share it) that marshmallows are evil little buggers who ruin everything they touch. Phish Food, for example, would be perfectly divine if it weren't for the fucking Phish.

    Therefore, I suggest that you continue pursuing a confectionary course, but omit marshmallows from the equation; and, to up the stakes a little, try using the oven. At Robinson, sadly, we are confined to the top of the cooker, and you have since resorted to the fridge, but I can testify that there is nothing so satisfying as peeking (but not for too long!) into an oven and seeing cakes rising, rising like little baked suns. There is also the adventure of making your own icing and piping messages onto your cake(s); but, for god's sake, don't use icing messages as a means of declaring your undying love for another. TRUST ME ON THIS ONE.

  2. Let's cook something really awful/mid-life-crisis-y in January, before everyone else comes back and gets angry about the fire alarms/calls me retarded again! I'm not allowed to cook in my house and I miss the adrenalin rush of the sirens.

    Also I was frying some onion or something and my mother informed me that I always always have the heat too high (and how do I expect to fry anything like that etc.) which is why shit always sets on fire when I cook. THIS COULD BE THE START OF A NEW CULINARY ERA WHEREBY I DON'T SET THE FIRE ALARMS OFF MORE THAN ONCE A TERM! Also I was thinking of getting a plunger on a stick to put over the fire alarm for when something else goes wrong instead.

    Love and tentacular hugs,

  3. I read your blog! because it's freaking hilarious. And no I'm not from Robinson :P

  4. Oh Lotte

    I hope your adventures in the kitchen have improved since the days of jogging club picnic and your unforgetable chocolate cake. And the hair.

  5. Not much, oh anonymous commenter, though I can at least boast that my cooking is now free from hair, though still completely inedible!