They have adorable chubby cheeks
Rabbit, rabbit. I baked an apricot biscuit cake this afternoon.
It was for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ratatosk. Between exhaustion, hell-cold, mouth-hurt, and general malaise, I hadn't been convinced I'd make it to his party, but I needed to bake a lemon cake for derspatchel's birthday observed tomorrow and I like Tracy and what the hell, I miss baking. Basically it was a sweet buttermilk dough rolled out flat, filled with apricot preserves, jelly-rolled and cut into rounds, and then packed into a round pan so that they melted back together into a single pastry as they baked. I drastically overestimated the quantity of apricot preserves necessary for the filling, meaning it kind of bulged out everywhere as each roll was cut, and I think I shall keep it this way in future iterations as it left the finished cake honeycombed and fragrant with apricot, aided by the fluffiness of the buttermilk and the cold chopped butter as in a scone; it was practically a pudding. No yeast. I would like to give it a more interesting topping next time, as I just treated it like a pear cake and glazed with a sprinkling of extra sugar; I think it could stand a little spicing, even if I need to think about what goes with apricot (I couldn't eat it with nuts and streusel feels like overkill). I had to go out to Lexington to bake it, since our oven is still kaput, but it was worth the travel time. There was nothing left but the festive striped plate by the time I went home.
Dinner was an assorted order from Pizza Pie-er in Inman. I am still at the stage with these braces where eating actual food rather than giving up and making some kind of smoothie feels like an achievement, as does eating at all, so I was glad I'd gotten there in time to order. The crust turned out to be more work than my mouth can currently handle, so I ate all the toppings off it and instantly stopped feeling stupid that I'd overloaded a seven-inch pizza with spinach, eggplant, mushrooms, and prosciutto. It was hot and nutrition-bearing and someday I won't have to chew on the left side of my mouth and very tasty. I still don't forgive the restaurant for burdening their specialty pizzas with untenable portmanteaux like "Meatichoke" (meatballs and artichoke) and "Brimp" (broccoli and shrimp), but the former was very nearly redeemed by the observation that no one would order a pizza by the name of "Artballs."
I spent most of the party itself talking to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
phi about everything from poetry to grad school to poisonous food staples and periodically eavesdropping lines from elsewhere in the conversation about cyanide and penguins. It was great.
And I got home and Rob showed me the first episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, which is already brilliant.
I feel that I have salaged a good day and I am happy. Someday my life will not involve quite so many salvage operations, but in the meantime, I dunno, Mary Ellen Carter on.
It was for
ratatosk. Between exhaustion, hell-cold, mouth-hurt, and general malaise, I hadn't been convinced I'd make it to his party, but I needed to bake a lemon cake for derspatchel's birthday observed tomorrow and I like Tracy and what the hell, I miss baking. Basically it was a sweet buttermilk dough rolled out flat, filled with apricot preserves, jelly-rolled and cut into rounds, and then packed into a round pan so that they melted back together into a single pastry as they baked. I drastically overestimated the quantity of apricot preserves necessary for the filling, meaning it kind of bulged out everywhere as each roll was cut, and I think I shall keep it this way in future iterations as it left the finished cake honeycombed and fragrant with apricot, aided by the fluffiness of the buttermilk and the cold chopped butter as in a scone; it was practically a pudding. No yeast. I would like to give it a more interesting topping next time, as I just treated it like a pear cake and glazed with a sprinkling of extra sugar; I think it could stand a little spicing, even if I need to think about what goes with apricot (I couldn't eat it with nuts and streusel feels like overkill). I had to go out to Lexington to bake it, since our oven is still kaput, but it was worth the travel time. There was nothing left but the festive striped plate by the time I went home.Dinner was an assorted order from Pizza Pie-er in Inman. I am still at the stage with these braces where eating actual food rather than giving up and making some kind of smoothie feels like an achievement, as does eating at all, so I was glad I'd gotten there in time to order. The crust turned out to be more work than my mouth can currently handle, so I ate all the toppings off it and instantly stopped feeling stupid that I'd overloaded a seven-inch pizza with spinach, eggplant, mushrooms, and prosciutto. It was hot and nutrition-bearing and someday I won't have to chew on the left side of my mouth and very tasty. I still don't forgive the restaurant for burdening their specialty pizzas with untenable portmanteaux like "Meatichoke" (meatballs and artichoke) and "Brimp" (broccoli and shrimp), but the former was very nearly redeemed by the observation that no one would order a pizza by the name of "Artballs."
I spent most of the party itself talking to
phi about everything from poetry to grad school to poisonous food staples and periodically eavesdropping lines from elsewhere in the conversation about cyanide and penguins. It was great.And I got home and Rob showed me the first episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, which is already brilliant.
I feel that I have salaged a good day and I am happy. Someday my life will not involve quite so many salvage operations, but in the meantime, I dunno, Mary Ellen Carter on.
no subject
Thank you. They will have to happen. I'll figure out how.
A finished cake honeycombed and fragrant with apricot is wondrous thing. Summertime in February.
I just wrote out the recipe for
(Artballs sounds like a *very* bad comedy film)
Probably about museums. Or art school. With some wacky sports angle.
no subject
thank you