There are things I know about myself that I cannot say out loud. I tell them to friends who I know will not blink or judge me. Or, like Tony Leung in In The Mood For Love whispering into the hollow of a tree, I cup my hands to my mouth and whisper into my blog.

I love..

I want..

I’m afraid…

Shhh..I’m afraid this is not actually a dessert I am entirely happy with. As soon as I plated up, it immediately looked ungainly and unrefined. Somewhat ugly. However, I wanted to share the pictures, to document how the ideas in my head develop from one dish to the next (and the next will be better, I hope).

This dish stems from my my current obsession with the idea of puddles of sauce or pudding, and edible skipping stones. Such images from nature, like natural works of art inspire me because of the positive emotions they create. That sense of happiness when you see blue skies and perfect clouds, or vast expanses of tall green grass. Poppies in a field. Watching the endless waves rolling towards a shore.

I love a dish with a story, even if it’s not likely that the people you feed will detect it. But if they get as much enjoyment from eating something that I am happy to make, then what more can you really wish for?

Has it really been more than a week since my last post? Now that I’m back to working for my butter, I haven’t had as much time to bake, blog, or even visit other blogs. For the latter, I wholeheartedly apologise.

Work, for those who have been wondering, has been very interesting. So far, I have worked with methylcellulose, marvelled at the abilities of Versa-Whip, tasted a brand of chocolate I’m not familiar with, discovered a nemesis : the Vitaprep, and walked into a glass door. All brand new experiences for me. I have also learned other new things, especially from Dan, which I might incorporate into a dessert or two, to feature here some day.

Inbetween, I have been trying to make the most of my days off. Sunday has become cinnamon-roll-day in our house. A handful of these (trust me, you’ll eat more than one; they disappear so quickly, straight from the oven), a cup of coffee and football on the telly : this has become the thing I most look forward to, at the end of a long week.

It all started when we watched a movie one Saturday evening. Kamome Diner is about a Japanese woman trying to run a diner in Helsinki, Finland. Like most food-related movies, it turns out to be a story celebrating life, friendship, and the connective powers of food. Being the suggestible person that I am (I still ‘stroke the pork’ in my bowl of ramen, after watching Tampopo), I was soon craving tonkatsu, soy glazed salmon, onigiri, and cinnamon rolls with coffee. As he is a very hungry person himself, B managed to make the first three dishes happen, by taking us to Jugemu & Shimbashi for dinner. That afternoon, I baked cinnamon rolls and he brewed coffee. The only thing we disagreed on was the way in which one should eat the rolls. B just sinks his teeth into the whole bun, while I like peeling the layers off, which he thinks only serves to dilute the bun-eating experience.

The recipe for these Finnish delights comes from Beatrice Okajangas’ baking book. She calls them cinnamon ‘ears’, but I somehow managed to misread the instructions (how this is possible, considering there are diagrams in the book, is beyond me) and my ‘ears’ did not turn out as ‘audibly’ as expected, so I’m calling them :

Cinnamon Rolls :
(makes 24; from Scandinavian Baking Book by Beatrice Okajangas)

2 packages active dry yeast
1 cup warm water, 40 – 46’C
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 cup sugar
3 slightly beaten eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cardamom (optional)
4 1/2 to 5 cups plain flour

for the filling :
1/2 cup soft butter
1/2 cup sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

for the glaze :
1 slightly beaten egg
2 tablespoons milk
pearl sugar or crushed sugar cubes

In a large bowl, dissolve yeast in the warm water and let stand 5 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup melted butter, 1/2 cup sugar, the eggs, salt, cardamom, and 4 1/2 cups flour until dough is smooth. Cover and refrigerate 2 to 24 hours.

Sprinkle board with some of the remaining flour. Divide dough into 2 parts. Turn out onto the lightly floured board, and roll each part out to make a rectangle about 12 inches by 24 inches long. Spread each half with half the butter and sprinkle with half the sugar and cinnamon. Roll up, starting from a 24-inch side. Cut each roll diagonally into 12 pieces. Each piece will be about 1/2 inch on one side and 3 inches thick on the other. With two thumbs, press down the middle of the side of each roll. In so doing the two cut edges will be forced upward. The rolls will resemble two “ears”.

Cover 2 baking sheets with parchment or lightly grease them. Place cinnamon ears on prepared baking sheets. Let rise until puffy. Mix the egg and milk to make a glaze. Brush rolls with the glaze and sprinkle with the pearl sugar.

Preheat oven to 204’C. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until just golden.

“I wound up my clockwork sufficiently to tick out onto the waking streets and buzz a newspaper off the sleep-deprived vendor. Like the rest of the poor in sleep of the coming twenty-first century he was a money junkie, trading shut-eye for a tight fist. Nobody can afford to sleep anymore. Do you realise how much it costs?”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

I love my sleep. Love the ritual of clean teeth, the gurgle of gargled water down the drain pipe. The shedding of clothing, as if removing them meant you were rid of the day’s troubles and worries. Slipping between sheets; the tangle of limbs. I don’t often get enough sleep, despite the fact I don’t think I ask for much. Give me at least six hours, I say. Usually I average 4 1/2 during my working week.

“And then I was offered the job of a particle in factory physics. I was offered the job of an electron in an office atom. I was offered the job of a frequency for a radio station. People told me I could easily make it as a ray in a ray gun. What’s the matter with you, don’t you want to do well? I wanted to be a beach bum and work on my wave function. I have always loved the sea.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

The other day, I woke up with a start. Maybe my alarm clock didn’t go off. Maybe I was so sleepy, I turned it off without realising. Or maybe I totally forgot to set it to begin with. Either way, I started the day with a run. Running down the street to the train station. Running to catch a bus. Running, past skyscrapers and concrete empires, threaded between blue skies I don’t have time to glance at. Running, to catch up with the rest of my day. At the end of it, I ran all the way home.

“I know we are walking home by a roundabout route, but after I bought my paper this morning I decided to go to the park and feed the rubber ducks. The real ducks died because so many people were feeding them in the new twenty-four hour working day that not a drake nor a duck had a moment to itself. Some sank under the weight of soggy bread, others exploded. The rubber variety are much more adaptable.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

You know when you’re so out of breath that you can’t whistle? Sometimes I feel so exhausted, that this endless cycle week after week, makes me feel like an exploded duck, weighed down by so much expectation. Expectation of bouyancy. Of being able to fly. At the end of the road, when there’s nothing left of me but a funereal bill, will anyone remember what the duck looked like?

“I flung myself down and watched the clouds bumping each other, the break and mend of a morning sky. My body was relaxed and the ordered chords of my thinking mind began to separate into component notes, to reply themselves without effort, without purpose, trailing into.. sleep.”
–Disappearance I, Jeanette Winterson

Sleep restores me. When he’s by my side, that calm and gently breathing B, shoulders rising and falling, his warmth envelops me like no blanket can. I like turning over, knowing he’s there. That sleepy smile, when he realises I’m staring. The profferred shoulder, then snuggled like a spoon against custard.

I realise life is all about what you make of it. Make your own bed, as they say, and lie in it. One day I hope to achieve that magical balance between life and work. When I finally disappear, I hope it will be on my own terms. In the meantime, I continue to push myself. Push out of bed, push to the train station, push through the day and at the end of it, push home to see the B.

Baked Mandarin Custard :
(serves 2)

80g strained mandarin juice (approximately the juice of 1 honey murcott mandarin)
zest of 1 mandarin
50g caster sugar
3 egg yolks
180g double cream
1/4 teaspoon spices of choice (optional)^*

Preheat the oven to 150’C.

Whisk the sugar, zest and juice together to dissolve the sugar. Add the yolks, spices, then the cream, whisking only just to combine. Strain the mixture, pressing to extract any flavoursome oils from the zest and pour into two ramekins. Bake, covered with foil, in a water bath for 25-30 minutes or until the custard is only wobbling slightly.

Allow to cool in water bath, then chill for a couple of hours or overnight, before serving.

(^* I spiced this custard with cinnamon and cardamom, in honour of Anita’s theme for this month’s SHF : Spices! The custard was served with mandarin and hazelnut sable soldiers.)