She breezed through my front door. I have good news! She said. And bad news.

The good news was that she had finally gotten her dream job. In spite of the bad news hovering like an elephant in the room, it was the good news that we wanted to celebrate and discuss. Afterall, how many people can really say they are working in their dream job?

I look around the carriage of my train some mornings and wonder why people look so sad or hurt and angry. It is as though someone has shouted in their ear and dragged them out of bed, scrubbed their face with soap, handed them a briefcase and pushed them out the door. I know I have days when I dread getting out of bed because the whole cycle begins, the moment your feet touch the floor. But it’s all we can do sometimes to try to stay afloat in a world drifting faster than we can manage. Stuffed into heavy suits and shiny shoes, we breathe in with forgotten lungs and tread water.

Because she and I were celebrating on one of those days when none of the above exists, I had to make a cake. Even though I don’t often bake with white chocolate, I know she loves it, and after making this, I could not stop myself from eating the trimmings. Leonor calls it a blondie, but I actually think it’s more of a cross between a cake and a blondie. It is light, but impossibly moist and truly celebrates the flavour of white chocolate like no other cake I’ve tasted.

Despite this, it looks deceptively like a functional cake, which the world is already filled to the rafters with. Functional cakes are the lubricant for social discourse between the hours of 10 and 11am or 3 and 4pm.

This is not a functional cake. It doesn’t facilitate discussion. It is a cake baked with words, and I hope she can hear it when she eats it. It says, I value your friendship. I’m sorry you’re having relationship issues at a time in your life when you are feeling ready to settle down and have children. I admire you. I am proud of your achievements. I hope to always be there for you.

The singular ripe banana (Bananais Deliciousness) is a welcomed species in this household. I peek at it through a crack in the cupboard door; David Attenborough in an apron, minus his good intentions. Rather than observe undisturbed, this soft, spotty and fragrant beast, I want to eat it. It’s intense ripeness conveys a sense of urgency. Quick, how shall we use it, before the flies muzzle down on it. Before the singular hungry male of this household descends on it like the mid-morning snack that it appears to be.

I had what was possibly my last shift at my current place of work, last night. Thinking back now, about the crazy people I will miss working with, I also realise that it’s my time to go. This banana has to go. She is feeling happy, but frayed. She gave it her all, and she still remembers the times she cried on her way home because of how unfamiliar and impossible everything seemed. How the weariness set like eggwhites into grey under her eyes. But those were only tiny moments. A mere iritation in the oyster that grew into a pearl of an experience.

What will I miss? The head chef saying, “I’ve got a f*n sick idea” which can mean anything from garlic flavoured paper and the most beautiful ode to tomatoes on a plate, to “blue swimmer crab consomme” fashioned from Gatorade and a single raw scallop (to keep the waiters on their toes). I will miss the French manager with his impenetrable accent. The Italian waiter who tells us to “Chill-ax, man, just chillax!”

I could go on about what I will miss about everyone inbetween, but they probably won’t mean anything to most people reading this. Instead, I dedicate this joyfully messy impromptu piece of sunshine on a plate to all the good times I’ve had at my old job. Looking at it makes me smile, with arms wide open.

Oh, and the pastry chef. God yes, I will miss the pastry chef. Thank you, Katrina.

Flourless Banana Cake :
(serves 6; from Wild Weed Pie by Janni Kyritsis)

250g whole almonds, blanched and skinned
2 eggs
125g caster sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons bitter almonds (optional)
250g bananas, peeled
2 teaspoons strained lemon juice
1/2 cup flaked almonds
1 tablespoon icing sugar, to serve
1 cup 45%-fat cream, to serve

Preheat oven to 150’C. Toast skinned almonds on a baking tray in the oven for about 20 minutes or until golden and leave aside to cool. Leave the oven on at 150’C.

Butter a 22cm fluted flan tin (with removable base) and line with baking paper; wetting the baking paper and squeezing it well to remove the moisture will make it more pliable, so that it fits the fluted tin better. Grease the paper with more butter.

Beat the eggs with the sugar for about 10 minutes, or until mixture falling from the beaters forms a ribbon-like pattern on top of the mixture for a few seconds. Meanwhile, grind the almonds, baking powder and bitter almonds (if using) to a fine meal in a food processor (do not over-grind or they will become moist and sticky). Dust the tin with about 2 tablespoons of the almond meal then fold the remaining almond meal into the egg mixture. Puree the bananas with the lemon juice and fold immediately into the cake mixture – bananas must be pureed at the last minute to prevent them going black. Pour the mixture into the prepared cake tin and scatter the surface with flaked almonds. Bake for about 40 minutes, until a skewer comes out clean. Remove from oven and leave to cool in tin.

When cool, sift over icing sugar, cut into slices and serve immediately with a dollop of thick cream on the side.

If your local supermarket has recently been suffering from a severe lack of caster sugar, chances are, you live in my neighbourhood. Up until last week, fudge and I had been existing on this planet, on separate orbits. Even now, I feel like we will forever remain on speaking, but separate, terms. But it was a swift sweet romance and breakup that had to happen : my kitchen, it overfloweth with fudge.

This obsessive affair all started with Lorraine and her quest to make the perfect creme brulee fudge. A few perfectly harmless emails were thrown back and forth, concerning the subject and I confessed at that point that I had never really paid much notice to fudge. Fudge? Isn’t that merely a clash between condensed milk and chocolate, coupled with a few extra expensive visits to the dentist?

Her enthusiasm however leaked into my innocent fudge-free world, and soon I was reaching for every single possible cookbook I had that might contain information on fudge.

In theory, fudge is a crystallised sugar confection, produced using a somewhat similar method to fondant, with the addition of flavours, fat and dairy products (butter, cream, milk). Who would have guessed that such a simple handful of ingredients accompanied by a deceptively easy set of instructions, could yield so many different results? It is with some relief that I read Greweling’s statement that, “in spite of the fact that these candies are often made by nonprofessionals, achieving the proper crystal size and moisture content, and therefore a smooth creamy texture, is not a simple feat”. Indeed, Greweling is quite detailed and comprehensive on the topic and has a few recipes I would love to try, as soon as I get my hands on some invert sugar. Wybauw had similar points to note regarding fudge, but the few recipes I tried of his didn’t work well enough for me to be convinced that I had been successful.

Seven batches later, and I have finally come across a recipe that I’m fairly happy with. I’m still experimenting with it, so a final recipe shall be forthcoming in a future post.

In the meantime, for those wanting to make an easy, quickfix, crowd-pleasing batch of fudge, you can’t go wrong with the recipe below. This is not by any means a traditional fudge, but whatever you want to call it, it is incredibly delicious and deserves at least two seconds in the spotlight. The lemon juice and salt cleverly elevate this above the many pedestrian fudge recipes of its ilk. In fact, the next time I make this, I would be tempted to add even more lemon/lime juice, to further cut the sweetness of the white chocolate.

White Chocolate Fudge :
(based on a recipe in The Cook’s Guide to Chocolate by Christine McFadden and Christine France)

600g good quality white chocolate, chopped
375g sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice [or lime juice]
pinch of salt
(optional : 175g extra ingredient of choice – eg. pistachios, cranberries, dessicated coconut etc)

Grease and line a baking tin with greaseproof paper. [The choice of tin is up to you, depending on how thick or thin you want your fudge to be (for presentation purposes). The Cook’s Guide recommends an 8″ square tin.]

In a saucepan over low heat, melt the white chocolate and condensed milk until smooth, stirring frequently [use a heatproof spatula, to make sure no bits get stuck on the bottom of the pan]. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla extract, lemon juice and salt. Stir in any additional ingredients. Spread the mixture in the prepared tin. Chill for 2 – 4 hours until set.