I go mad for vegetables or herbs in cakes. It’s like, it shouldn’t work but it does…and it tastes better than any cake ever made before. This is why carrot cake reigns supreme. Rosemary is just my absolute hands down favourite herb in the history of herbs forever amen. I sprinkle it on as much as I can get away with and now I want to bake with it for eternity. I’m getting carried away? Ok. I took this cake into work, left it in the communal kitchen and it was gone within ten minutes.
I’ve had a few posts recently with chocolate in so I decided to try something different, otherwise I’d have been all over the salted caramel chocolate cake.
It’s less stupid, now, than it otherwise might have been – we’ve negotiated “lighter” exercise, like yoga, in, in an effort to give our bodies a little rest. Two weeks in, and a few people have dropped days, but thanks to a refusal to give in, most of us are going strong, despite aches and the necessity to wake up before the sun to squeeze things in. We’re all exercising more, and better, for it – I guess it’s the way we support each other. This is what I left university with: one degree, and several stubborn, idiot friends.
Perched beside the pavement, roughly at the halfway point on the walk to school, the village bakery smelt so good it was basically impossible to stroll past without at the very least slowing down to take in the aromas of fresh bread, cheese straws, and a plethora of biscuits. A tiny room, there was only just enough space for a small round table and two chairs, tucked underneath a pin board that covered all aspects of village life: craft fairs, church services dance classes. It was old-fashioned, without the pretense you get these days in bakeries that declare themselves “artisanal”; all crisp paper bags and motherly staff.
It feels right, finally. We – three of us, now – have grown as people considerably in the last year and a half, and this flats feels like it reflects us better than the flats we could never quite bring ourselves to call “home” ever did. The first few days, we’d nudge each other every now and then just to say, “Hey. Hey. We live here.” This is where we have a biscuit jar to dip into, and little bits of each of our personalities perched on every shelf and worktop.
