ga('create', 'UA-56958023-1', 'auto');
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I bake a lot. In fact, if you’ve been following me for the past few weeks, you’ll already have seen that! However, Sunday was a very dark day in my baking history, but it’s so funny that I had to share it with you.
Warning : photos my contain a very hungover little blogger and her friends.
As you can guess, baking when hungover, and without scales, is not a good idea. You know the old joke, how many degrees does it take to bake a birthday cake? Well, it turns out the answer is more than 5, ’cause that’s how many we all had and we still couldn’t make it.
I had fully planned on writing a lovely little blog post about mini Victoria Sponge cakes (I will another day, I promise), and I had even taken my lovely food photos for you…. But it seems that the cake angels had other plans for me…
Well, I have no idea what happened here to be quite honest… I either used salt instead of sugar or something equally ridiculous…. Or I put too much raising agent in my (supposedly) beautiful creations, because they ended up being cookie-esque Yorkshire pudding shaped “cakes”. Oh dear. Though my flatmate and the mister were terribly kind about them, there was no way that these would be someones birthday cake.
So 4 eggs and 250g of butter down, I figured I couldn’t get it wrong again… Right? Wrong. You know the saying “quit when you’ve only wasted 4 eggs”? Yeah, turns out that’s a life motto to live by.
New recipe in hand, willing sous-bakers helping out, I felt like I was destined to make a cake that would win bake off. Honestly, it was going to be that good. I had even decided maybe the tin was cursed and washed up a new square cake tin – because most Victoria Sponge’s are horribly round, you know?
It was all going so well: the eggs and sugar creamed as if Mary Berry herself had done it. Eggs in, so far so good. Mister puts the bowl down on the table and I go to pick it up…. Chaos. Batter everywhere.
I really wish I had better photos of this, but I was too hysterical to grab my camera, and could only grab my phone before the boys started scooping the mixutre into my measuring jug (I have no idea why either!).
On the floor. On the chair. And yes, even on my feet. How? I have no idea. I’ve always known I’ve been a bit of a special one when it comes to knocking things over, but this really did take the biscuit.
My lovely sous-bakers helped me clear up as I quite literally wept with tears and headed to the bathroom to shower my foot (a sentence I never thought I would say!). After a lot of hilarity it suddenly dawned on me… We had had a lot of fun, but there was still no birthday cake! And so on it goes…
After going through the whole mantra of “third time lucky”, “come on Lauren, you can make Red Velvet Cake, you can make a simple sponge” and most realistically, “don’t worry Lauren, your hangover isn’t that bad”, I knew what I needed to do. Why didn’t I think of this before?
I’m living in France: why am I going through all these eggs, all this stress when there are so many gorgeous bakeries near me enticing me to buy their lovely cakes? And so it was, a quick trip to the patisserie and I had “made” the best cake ever: a fraiser. An incredible concoction of sponge base, creme patissiere, strawberries and meringue top. Mmmmmm.
No baking when you’re hungover, Lauren. You might find it hilarious, but it really isn’t worth it – always buy the cake when that’s the state you’re in! Or even better, next time you do decide to bake, film it in case this happens again!
Hoping that this little anecdote has brought a little smile to your morning lovely readers. If anyone has ever spilled batter on their feet I really would love to hear from you, at least so that I know that I’m not the only one who is clever enough to do this!