2 weeks ago
Observations about the universe, life, Lausanne and me
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I tried another one of Mr. Olivers recipes this weekend.
It's one of those beat-butter-and-suger-until-creamy things, which were only made by masochists before the advent of the electric whisk. Actually, I think cakes like this are the real reason women were condemned to become housewives back in the day; it was all a confectioner-led conspiracy, you see. The electric whisk surely did more for emancipation than ... aeh ... all the rubber-suits in the world. Yes.
Anyway, I am accusing Mr. Oliver (or rather, his nan, for whom he invented it) of having an overly sweet tooth. About 315 g of sugar go into the making of this cake, and it was nearly to sweet for my girlfriend, I kid you not. In the lead of the recipe (yes, Mr. Olivers recipes have leads. Deal with it.) he mentions that one of his nan's friends liked it so much that he choked on his false teeth and had to be rescued by a Heimlich-maneuver. I rater suspect a diabetes-related seizure instead, but you never know.
If you want to try it yourself, mix equal amounts (115g) of butter, sugar, self-rising flour (beware of the flour-zombie crawling out of your waste-bin and strangling you at night) and ground almonds together with four eggs, 30g of poppy seeds and the juice and zest of two lemons. Try to take organic-ones, lest you grow funny-shaped appendages due to the anything-zides lemons generally come coted with.
Oh, and the right order is rather important, too: butter and sugar, eggs one after another, then the rest.
Bake at 180 Centigrade until ready, then drizzle with a sirup made from sugar (90g) and more lemon-juice, let cool down for a little bit and then glaze. Although you might want to cut down on the sugar a bit...
God damn it, I just read the wiki-page about Jamie Oliver I linked to above, and if you would like to meet the guy while he is still alive, hop into a plane to England as soon as possible, because he is not long for this mortal coil. Why? Because he named his children Poppey Honey and Daisy Boo. Gods, what was the man thinking? Talk about cruel and unusual punishment! Can you imagine what it must be like in school, nay, even in kindergarten to be called Daisy Boo?
If that is not a justification for fratricide...