Hattie has decided that when she grows up she wants to be a Celebrity Chef. I think this is the result of being born to a mother who is superbely bad cook: I think it’s the result of being quite hungry, quite often. She salivates as she watches Nigella prepare breakfasts she only dreams of.
Being a Celebrity Chef, she tells me, requires practice. Oddly her path to culinary fame includes alot of chocolate but not much in the way of vegetables. Yesterday she opted to make Chocolate Pudding, a mouthwatering looking desert which was described as ‘light and fluffy chocolate cake rising out of a pool of deliciously syrupy hot chocolate sauce’. Hat followed the instructions with anal precision and proudly put the pudding dish into the oven and we all waited impatiently anticipating the teeth-achingly sweetness of a rare dessert.
The prescribed fifty minutes later, pudding was taken out of the oven looking absolutely nothing like illustration in cookery book. Yuk said Hat’s siblings rudely.
The pudding looked like rock in a puddle.
A tearful Hat and and I analysed where she might have gone wrong. No baking powder apparently: Hat had overlooked the self-raising flour and bunged in unadulterated common-or-garden ‘unga ngano’, local baking flour, which constituted to brick like quality of cake.
Never mind, I tried to console her, when I was learning how to cook I made heaps of similar mistakes.
Hat didn’t, frankly, look very surpised. Nor encouraged.