Chocolate. Cherries. Whipped Cream.
I find myself pondering the things in life that I simply could not do without.
Everyday ordinary things that somehow have become integral to my very existence.
Like my iPhone. If I couldn't check my Twitter every hour you might find me shaking in a corner somewhere in a cold sweat. Or if I just couldn't play Tap Tap Revenge I'd probably start obsessively drumming three fingers on every and any surface I could get my rhythm deprived hands on.
My camera. Being a self-professed shutter bug I snap photos of lots of pretty things edible or otherwise. If it broke or got stolen one day I'd probably cry. Like ugly-face-desperate-air-gasping-cry.
My laptop. I've filled this baby to the brim with photos, music and videos. When people aren't looking I stroke it and whisper sweet nothings into its air vents. One of these days we're going to have a disagreement regarding the location of some very important files and I want to put that off for as long as possible.
My hair straightener. Without it my hair get's poofy and I will not walk through life with poofy hair. I just won't. I refuse.
Burt's Bees pomegranate rosemary lip balm. I can't stand lipstick and it makes kissing my fella far too complicated. This lip balm makes my lips just slightly redder and smooth plus it's pretty much all natural which is nice.
My fella, of course! You saw that coming right? Who else would laugh at my bad puns, warm up my feet when they're cold or eat the bits of leftover cake I levelled off the top?
Chocolate.
Cherries.
Whipped cream.
Lucky for me this cake has all three of those last things. Now if it was just filled with iTunes cards I'd be laughing.
Sweetheart.
I thought that on this most auspicious day I would share with you mine and Lee's favourite poem. Sometimes no matter how hard you try to express your feelings someone has already beaten you to the punch.
A Rhyme of the Dream-Maker Man
Down near the end of a wandering lane,
That runs 'round the cares of a day,
Where Conscience and Memory meet and explain,
... Their quaint little quarrels away.
A misty air-castle sits back in the dusk
Where brownies and hobgoblins dwell
And this is the home
Of a busy old gnome
Who is making up dream-things to sell,
My dear,
The daintiest dreams to sell.
He makes golden dreams of wicked men's sighs.
He weaves on the thread of a hope
The airiest fancies of pretty brown eyes,
And patterns his work with a trope.
The breath of a rose and the blush of a wish
Boiled down to the ghost of a bliss,
He wraps in a smile
Every once in a while,
And calls it the dream of a kiss,
Dear heart,
The dream of an unborn kiss.
Last night when I walked thro' the portals of sleep
And came to the weird little den,
I looked in the place where the elf-man should keep
A dream that I buy now and then.
'Tis only the sweet happy dream of a day--
Yet one that I wish may come true--
But I learned from the elf
That you'd been there yourself
And he'd given my dear dream to you,
Sweetheart,
He'd given our dream to you.
-William Allen White
Made With Love.
Valentine's Day means either nothing or everything to an individual person. You're either a skeptic or a romantic. More and more the world is being peopled by skeptics. People who don't believe in anything they can't see or touch and make fun of those who dare to.
I was once one of them before I met Lee. I'm not going to tell you that rainbows and butterflies follow us, but we are ridiculously happy. The kind of happy that gives you cavities and your face hurts from smiling too much. He's my match, my better half, my sweetheart.
A note in a lunch bag. A heart shaped box of chocolates. A bouquet of roses. A romantic dinner on a rooftop. A picnic in the sun. A long distance phone call. A marriage in secret. A well composed email. Whatever love means to you it deserves celebration.
I thought I'd give you all a simple yet sweet recipe for your own sweetheart. Just ganache, raspberries and hazelnuts. These Chocolate Razelnut Truffles are decadent, rich and best enjoyed when made with love.
Paint With Chocolate; Sculpt With Orange.
I made it! Challenge four! Thank you so much to my loyal readers and new friends who took the time to vote for me. I appreciate all your support and words of encouragement.
“Sure, you can take a pretty picture. But your task here is to go above and beyond and use photography to create a step-by-step, instructional photo tutorial. It could be anything from how to bone a chicken to how to make your favorite recipe, but your photos need to guide the reader through the steps. For this challenge, you'll want to go well beyond the 2 photo minimum with at least 6 photographs.”

More often than not food blogs are salt and peppered by impossible yet beautiful photographs. Fantastically layered slices of cake. Intricately detailed lattice pie crust. Perfectly frosted cupcakes. Food bloggers present their subjects in such a way that they transcend food and transform into art.
Edible art.
Like any art form it can be broken down into steps and taught. As an artist I've always believed that art is both a talent and a skill. Those that aren't born with the ability can learn it.
Andy Warhol, Salvador Dali and Leonardo da Vinci. Helene Dujardin (Tartelette), Heather Baird (Sprinkle Bakes), and Hannah Queen (Honey & Jam). All artists with different styles and subjects.
For those of you who bitterly complain that you can't draw a straight line or sculpt mashed potatoes I give you this tutorial. Follow these step-by-step photos to create your own masterpiece.
Creeps and Cake.
I saw you creeping last night. What you were really doing at 1 and 2 am in your front yard with a tarp, a halogen lamp and a stack of junk I'll never know.
I know what it looked like you were doing. I half expected you to drag a lifeless body out your front door and start rolling that sucker up.
Which is why I felt it was my civic duty as unofficial head of neighbourhood watch to leer out my upstairs window at you. I may or may not have busted out my telescopic camera lens to leer a little closer. Those things don't work so great at night... or so I hear.
Just a word to the wise, try your very best not to do weird things at all hours of the night. I have a very big imagination and it will, without a doubt, conjure up a much more interesting explanation for your midnight activities than the truth. Folding up tarps and shining lights into people's windows doesn't exactly get you invited to all the cool barbecues.
Speaking of which, do you think you can manage not to shine 500 watts of light willy nilly around the block including into my bedroom windows? Halogen work lamps aren't flashlights. That would really help me sleep at night.
And by the way, it's called a yard not a landfill. You have ten square feet of dirt to look after. A patch of grass or even a small tree is much more aesthetically pleasing than a pile of all manner of junk. Do you think you could, oh I don't know, clean that mess up? You know, as long as that doesn't stimulate your trigger itch. I don't want to wind up snug as a bug in a... tarp.
I'd suggest you channel your creepy energy and redirect it on some cake baking. It's a much more constructive task when compared to your regular activities like scaring the neighbours, glaring at pedestrians, harbouring mean cats, collecting broken down piece of junk cars, or hiding bodies in your freezer.
Thanks a bunch.
Sincerely,
That girl across the street.
PS: You don't get any of my cake!
Cupcake Confessional.
Are you ready?
Like really ready?
Ok, here goes.
I'm 41.
Ok no, not really. You should see your face. I couldn't keep a straight face on that one either.
Let me clarify. According to my Wii I'm 41. My Wii thinks I'm 41. Should this offend me? Because it does. I have been insulted by a tiny white box.
I took the Wii Sports fitness test last night and let's just say the results were less than desirable. Really though, what does the ability to volley a virtual tennis ball into a target have to do with my level of fitness? Or the talent of dodging virtual training balls being lobbed at me randomly? Or being able to curve a virtual bowling ball? I'm quite good at that one by the way. One of those life skills that will certainly come in handy in the future. There will be a bowling ball curving emergency somewhere someday I'm sure of it.
Basically the Wii is an elaborate game system designed entirely to make you look stupid. Yes, the truth is out folks. Let's be honest here, it's not like you were really worried about looking cool while cow racing, swerving around goombas or collecting star bits.
I dare you to try to not wave your arms around like a spazz while boxing and whip someone in the face with the nunchuk cord. Yeah that didn't happen. I dare you not to get the overwhelming urge to whip the remote at the TV when you miss the tennis ball for the umpteenth time. That may or may not have happened. Tell me you never threw a temper tantrum and blamed the game before. Tell me you were never in a bad mood for half the day because you didn't round that corner just right to avoid the Shy Guy. You never slung insults at the screen after falling through the same star shaped hole in the Rocky Road?
No? Just me then? Oh.
Maybe I'm bitter because my Wii called me 41. Maybe I've been eating too many of these Devil's Food Cupcakes. Maybe it's worth it.
Yes. Yes, it definitely is.
Blondies, Who Knew?

So there I was in my kitchen, my mouth hanging open in a frozen gasp and my eyes popping out of my head. It was one of those eureka moments. You know the one. Brownies not made of dark or milk chocolate but white chocolate. I'm clearly a genius.
Not.
Then I was left with the difficult task of naming my brain child. Whities was a bad choice for obvious reasons. Plus they wouldn't really be white. It's kind of difficult to bake white food. So beigies? No, that's just lame and rather hard to pronounce.
Naturally I couldn't get it out of my head. So I googled it like a good obsessive compulsive person and, to my great disappointment, I not only found a name for them but also found they already existed. Blondies. There's not much left in the world that someone hasn't already thought of. Silly me. I never would have thought of that.
Blueberries were on sale. I like blueberries. Blueberries and white chocolate go together nicely. So there you have it. Sometimes it's best you don't over think dessert.
Good For What Ails You.
I get the hiccups. Quite frequently. It's an annoyance. It's a curse.
Now let me be clear. We're not talking those aw-isn't-that-cute-she-squeeks-like-a-mouse kind of hiccups. We're talking feels-like-I've-been-kicked-in-the-throat-by-a-workhorse-gasping-for-breath-like-I'm-drowning kind of hiccups. These are grown up hiccups people.
The man to hold the world record for the longest case of hiccups is named Charles Osborne who had the hiccups for a full 69 years. That's right. I googled it. Experts estimate he hiccuped 430 million times in that time period. By my calculations that's approximately 17,300 hiccups per day and 12 hiccups per minute. I don't think I've ever had hiccups for longer than 69 minutes and a mere 10 minutes into it I was already about ready to rip my hair out.
I know all the remedies. Oh, you think you're so smart. You think you have one I've never heard of. You don't. I've swallowed spoonfuls of sugar with no results other than a mild sugar rush. I've rather awkwardly attempted a headstand which only ended in falling in a heap on the floor and bruising my knee. I've drank glass after glass of water upside down and backwards which only seemed to make it worse. I've had people scare the crap out of me repeatedly and the hiccups always return. And so on and so forth...
My problem is I have hiccup days. I hate those days. Most people get hiccups once, they cure them and they don't have to worry about it for the rest of the day. That would be nice. With me I seem to go days without getting the hiccups and then one day I get them several times. The hiccup fairy comes and goes as she pleases all the while driving me batty. It's like a cruel joke. I rejoice in curing one case of hiccups only to have to deal with yet another half and hour later. Even worse, the cure I used on the last case of hiccups doesn't ever seem to work on the next bout.
The only similarity between all those hiccup remedies is distraction. Of course if you drink a glass of water upside down you're going to be more concerned with spilling water all over yourself than the hiccups you're curing with it. If you eat a slice of lemon you're going to be too busy making that attractive puckered sour puss face to worry about your hiccups. If a certain someone throws out their arms and screams at you suddenly in their thundering baritone voice you're going to be trying so hard not to pee yourself you're not even going to remember you had hiccups.
I've heard you get hiccups from worrying about something. That might explain it. I get hiccups once and I spend the rest of the day worrying so much about them returning that they do. It's a catch 22. Curse you hiccups! Why must you plague me?
Now onto something less crazy and more tasty. These White Chocolate Apricot Mousse Lace Cups are the polar opposite of those cursed hiccups. Well sort of. They aren't annoying. They aren't embarrassing. They aren't downright uncalled for.
They are pretty. They are adorable. They are definitely delicious.
Perhaps they are the unsung cure for hiccups. Only time will tell.

















