Pavlova: Not supposed to taste like sweet, warm egg?

Look at me, posting and shit. (Oh, I swear. Did you forget that? Sorry.)

I was quite the baker over the Christmas period. That sounded like a brag, but I didn't mention what kind of baker I was. 

Insert random photo of BR and I in front of our Christmas tree. That shit's hard to capture in a selfie.

"Behold, my large festive indoor plant!"

It all started when my Mum said 'Can you bring desserts this year, I can't be bothered. And you are the only one who cares about dessert so it's on you.' With that kind of enthusiasm, what could I say. Only dear Mum could get away with that.

Cue a week later, and Bill's Mum calls. 'Could you bring desserts to Christmas lunch? I'm not much into sweet things, and you made that thing last time so well.'

1. I appreciate the flattery, it will get you everywhere
2. 'That thing' I made last time was a flipping Chocolate Ripple Cake. I don't have the heart to tell her how easy it is. It's better that she thinks I'm the amazing dessert wizard.

I'm an eager to please butthole sometimes, and I also overestimate my actual kitchen skills, and lack a healthy respect for what can actually get done in the space of a day. 

Did I just buy one of those pav bases like everyone else? Or did I buy one of those stupid looking egg things, that my Mum always seems to have banging around her cupboard despite never actually making the pav herself? 

NO OF COURSE I DIDN'T.  I decided (and touted to everybody, unwisely) that I could do it all myself, from scratch.

So this is how I ended up taking on the responsibility of baking the following for Christmas day:

1. Large pavlova for my family (to feed 15)
2. Large pavlova for Bill's family (to feed 11)
3. Christmas cookie platter x2
4. Fruit platter x2
5. Alcholic chocolate ripple cake
6. Christmas bark for part of Christmas gift 
7. Butterscotch Pie (also known as the devils pie; finicky, has a million ingredients, and is a much treasured tradition read: don't fuck it up)
8. Non alcoholic kids chocolate ripple cake

Far out, brussel sprout. How do I get myself into this. Also: I began all of this at 9pm Christmas Eve. 

Pav 1 (Test Pav)

Verdict: I pored over the Donna Hay recipe book to meticulously make the first meringue. It ended up with weird sugary bits on the bottom, whatevs. I can hide a multitude of sins with cream. After spending so much time on the meringue, I rested on my laurels and managed to fuck up whipping cream. Seriously?! So I put some raspberries on, to try and distract. No such luck. Cream was clearly separated. Fucking cream, trust it to pull this shit. You had one job cream.

Also, the recipe said to wait until it was cold to taste test. But your rules can't control me Donna Hay! So I taste tested while the pav was warm...and it tasted like wet, sweet, warm egg white omelettes. With strawberries. Makes me gag a little thinking about it. 


Pav 2

Much better. Except the pavlova weeped, and the baking paper is completely stuck to the bottom. So what did I do? Just cut around that shit so no one can see it. Let them deal with it upon eating. By then they've already got it in their bowls and can't put it back! Genius. Then threw a bunch of fruit on to distract from the paper. I learnt that from Constantino. 

I made this cake for morning tea today with my sister in law.

It's a big deal, but I've gone and done it: I'm adding a new rule to feminism.

Of course the old ones still stand; Women should be able to vote, have the right to control their own bodies, shouldn't slut shame other women.....but today, I've added a new one.

Don't ask a woman who has baked for you if said baked goods come from a packet mix. Don't be that woman.

Basically, if I assembled the ingredients and stirred it, I baked it. Lovingly. 

And of course it is from a packet mix you silly bird. But I don't want to tell you that, because once again you should acknowledge that I am the amazing dessert wizard.

I turned my back and this guy had managed to eat the chocolate melts I left on the coffee table.

He only pulls robust shit like that because he knows he is adorable.

So there you have it. Baking fails and successes, and a pug who is currently trying to get pity from me because his belly hurts from eating far too many melts. Trust me, it will only last an hour max. Then he'll go back to trying to eat the chair leg. 

I wish I was joking.

"Doesn't Know She's Fat"

I am LIVID.

Source

Things are going to get heated here, so please be prepared for the full snark.

First things first- I am not a so called 'fat activist', don't write about the plight of being plus sized, and am not a member of the 'happy at any size' community.

However, I am fat. This is not me being self-depracting. I'm a size 16-18 and have bounced up and down in weight ranges for all of my teenage and adult life. Am I ultimately happy with my body? No, I'm not. That doesnt mean that others with a similar body shouldn't be- it just means I would prefer my body at a different size. I'm not hugely depressed about the body I have- whilst I am obese, I am also a kind, generous, and intelligent being who is worth more than what others perceive of my appearance.

I also don't mind if you feel that last sentence makes me conceited- if you can't toot your own horn, noone else will.

ENTER RANT. (Oh, did you think that was it? You're in for a treat.)

I was recently at a birthday party. That's not the shock- I have friends. Don't act so suprised. :)

My best friend P's boyfriend Jay (still with me?) was watching me closely on the dance floor. I noticed he would look at me, and then back at the Birthday Girl.

This is also where I have to announce I am a shithouse dancer. It doesnt stop me from getting up on that dancefloor, even sometimes being the first one on it, and doing whatever moves I can pull out. Oh the robot, the busstop, gosh even the sprinkler are coming on out. No holds barred- I have a great time too. I look like a drowning oompa-loompa with the flaily arms, but hey, you cant be good at everything, right?

I figure he is just admiring (read: mocking) my dancing so don't really think twice about it. That is until I flop on the chair next to J, exhausted from all of the arm swinging, leg twisting dance action.

"Hey Cindy...." J remarks slowly, leaning towards me.

"Birthday Girl doesn't know she is fat, does she?"

The only appropriate way to describe my reaction to the ass-hattery

WAIT, WHAT?

He goes on to explain that he means that "Birthday Girl hasn't clicked that she is fat yet. She is still flirting, wearing provocative clothes, and is loud and over confident. You act different to her- is it because you've been fat longer? You know you are fat and act like you should."

Oh, I see. So what you meant was that because the BIRTHDAY GIRL has put on weight, she should alter her whole personality to match the hatred the general populace has on anyone who is larger than average. She should stop flirting with men, HELL, she better not even talk to them, because she is now not worthy of even friendship or a laugh. Of course she should alter her personal style, and become an introvert because the crux of the matter is that now she is overweight, she should feel a deep shame about her very existence.

I'm sorry- I must have missed this part in the clause when I expanded out of a size 14 and received my official fat card in the mail.

Whilst he was trying to assure me that I act "accordingly" to my size, all he did was push his view that overweight women (Of course, I note his theory mentioned nothing on men, despite 1 in 4 men being overweight in Australia) should acknowledge that they are not only no longer attractrive, but are generally not wanted. Their opinions are invalid, their experiences void, and no matter what unique thoughts or feelings she may have they are irrelevent if men do not find her sexually attractive.

What does one even say to someone like that?!

Things Im Afraid To Tell You

I first heard about this post on the Vogue Forums, and found it a really interesting (albeit terrifying) concept.

What am I afraid to tell you?

1. I am too chicken shit to go to a doctor to find out if I have Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). I know logically it wont get any better, nor will my mind ever be at ease, if I avoid the doctor, but there you have it. I have all of the major symptoms (hormonal acne, weight gain, holding alot of weight around the stomach area, loss of periods, mood swings, and excess hair growth.) I have had these symptoms for atleast 5 YEARS but only recently clicked that there could be a reason for it. I just blamed them all on gaining weight. Still not getting any closer to the doctor to find out.

2. Which brings me to the second point- excess hair growth. *deep breath* My name is Cindy, and I have hairs on my chin.

Alot of women do- but do you think that sentence was any easier to write because of it? I never had a problem with it before, but since having hormonal problems I have discovered them. Of course I remove ASAP, but this is not without first feeling the full shame. Women arent supposed to have beards! My chin is supposed to be smooth as a babies bum!

I freak out when Billasaurus Rex touches the lower part of my face (for fear he will feel the hairs) and have recently been having a nightmare that Billasaurus Rex and I go camping, and I am stranded and have forgotten to bring my tweezers. I cant help but feel even dream-me is melodramatic. Lol

3. I'm not really very fashionable. I love fashion blogs, could read through them all day, but its only a desperate attempt to absorb others fashion sense through the screen.

4. I have been that woman that stayed in an abusive relationship for 6 years. The woman that everyone wants to shake sense into, and tell that she is stupid and that she should leave him. That was me.
It's funny- I tolerated hitting, kicking, shoving, horrible name-calling and hair-pulling, but the day he spat in my face I knew I was done.

My opinion on Chris Brown? You really want to know?!

5. I consider myself a feminist. It seems to be a dirty word these days, especially with some men. Do I agree with any argument any feminist has ever put forward? No. But do I believe that women should be paid equally, have the same rights as men, and hope that one day what a woman has to say for herself is more important than her appearance? You bet your ass I do. (Seriously, check out Jezebel. Interesting articles and often hilarious comments)

And that's all I'm brave (or stupid) enough to share.

What are you afraid to tell?