Eton Mess: An exercise in assembly

We've already established that I have a healthy obsession with meringue.

Shop bought or homemade. I don't discriminate. 

So what do you get when you throw together some meringue, softly whipped cream, and strawberries?

Errrm, hello...the perfect dessert.

And honestly, it is so easy. 

Any idiot can do it. Including me.

It doesn't take any skill, or expert knowledge. 

You just need to be able to assemble. 

Which is easy peasy. 

Seeing as it's called Eton MESS, it doesn't matter if it looks like trash.

It'll still taste like something that's been sent down from heaven.

Ok, you have to know, strawberry jam isn't in the traditional recipe.

I just add it because I think it makes it taste even more lovely.

This is not a realistic portrayal of how delicious Eton Mess is. 

This photo focuses more of the mess part. 

But honestly, ever time I eat so much and my stomach gets so full I feel like I'm going to die.

In a good way.

If you can feel like you're going to die in a good way.

Delights of the lemon variety

1. General appreciation of pastry based desserts. Check.
2. Slightly greater appreciation of anything citrusy and/or zingy. Check, check.
3. Slight obsession with meringue. Especially homemade ones that are crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside and stick to your teeth when you chew them, aka the perfect meringue. CHECK.

I handed in the most awful assignment that I have ever had the serious misfortunate of writing today. It was a 3,000 worder on research methods and ethics... Oh what, sorry, I just dozed off a little bit thinking about how boring it was. 

Anyway, after handing it in, I came home and took the afternoon off. I felt like I deserved it. I spent it reading Eat, Pray, Love, which is wickedsick by the way. Actually i take that back. Wickedsick gives a completely wrong impression of the book. Inspiring joyness is more like it. On with the list of stuffs I did... cooking, drinking posh juice (something fruity and sparkling drank from a wine glass constitutes posh juice for me) and baking. Can we say practically perfect? All together now, practically perfect. Apart from having to start the meringues over twice, because the tiniest little bit of yolk somehow crept into the bowl, which meant that the whites wouldn't stiffen, which my friends, is basically a meringue disaster. That was a really long sentence. Soz. Anyway, then when I'd made a good meringue mixture I then go and leave them in the oven for a minute too long. I know you were being polite when you pretended you didn't notice that my meringues in the picture were a little browner then they should be. I appreciate you trying to spare my feelings, but honestly there's no need, they were excellent. 

I might have actually even eaten two just to prove a point....

In an ideal situation

I spent the most part of this evening dreaming. 

Normally I save this kind of mind wandering for when I'm in bed 

and playing at being an insomniac because it helps me to fall to sleep.

I would love, LOVE, to live in a cutesy cottage like this. 

Well, like this bit with a few adjustments. 

I'd like a wooden front door that is painted in a bright colour 

and a garden that has lots of flowers 

(ideally magical ones that would take care of themselves.) 

Inside I'd like real oak wooden floors, 

lots of lamps and 

twice as many cushions. 

I'd like an double oven and a gas hob 

and a fridge that dispenses ice and cold water. 

I'd like to have coloured walls and walls covered in pictures. 

(For me pictures and photographs are different things.) 

But I would like to have lots of photos everywhere. 

Of my babies, my brothers, my Mom & Dad, my nieces and nephews, 

my in-laws, my friends, my hubs (and me) and my holidays. 

I would like book shelves that are full of books that I've actually read and that I love. 

And finally, 

and this one is most important, so listen carefully, 

I would like lots of juicy squidgable babies 

that will grow up to be noble prize winners/rockstars/poets/astronauts. 

Actually, scratch the growing up to be noble prize winners blah blah blah part, 

I would just like to have juicy babies 

that grow into curious children, 

pleasant teenagers 

and then happy adults. 

Is that last part too cheesy? 

Did I take it too far? 

Anyways, if I'm going to dream, I might as well dream big, right?

Housewifery

I dream of having a fireplace like this. 

I'm the eldest of my siblings. (Eldest or oldest? I have no clue which word I'm supposed to use here.)Either way, I'm the oldest of three. And I'm the only girl. That obviously means that I have two younger brothers. Anyway, now that we've got over stating the obvious... Being the oldest and the only girl meant that my Mom trained me up pretty good in all things domestic. Cooking, cleaning, washing, the works. Suffice it to say that by the time it came for me to move away for university I was already on the edge of Domestic Goddess status. Please don't think that I'm being big headed here, it's just the truth. When I first moved into my student house one of my housemates didn't even know how to use the washing machine. I could put on a load of washing in my sleep.


Years have passed and honestly, I am bold enough to say that I'm a Domestic Goddess now. I'd even go as far to say as that it's taken such a hold that it's instinctual. Seriously. Within the first thirty minutes of being awake today I had put away the clean & dry dishes, washed up my breakfast stuff, folded some dry washing, put a dirty load of washing in the machine, tidied the living room and organised my bag for school. I feel like I've missed something. Oh, and I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip muffins. You know, as you do. Actually, the last point is completely made up*. I only said I was domesticated, not Superwoman. 


I enjoy my wifely duties of running my home. Maybe somebody reading this will be horrified at my old school stereotype of women, but whatever. I like making sure that my home is a place where Mr.K (and me) can feel comfortable. And I like cooking him meals that he enjoys. I pretty much run the house, and I like it that way. But don't get me wrong, Momma K taught her boy well. He knows when to turn of the playstation and to step in after I've done more than my fair share. Either because he's being sweet and attentive or because I'm about to go into some kind of meltdown.


Nigella Lawson is one of my heroes. Minus the bizarre and sometimes, frankly, inappropriate noises she makes whilst she's cooking. Well, today I felt like her, positively Nigella-esque. After my Goddess stint this morning, I feel entirely qualified in saying this: Nigella Lawson, eat your heart out. I too, am a Domestic Goddess. ( I imagine that last sentence being said very dramatically and slowly. Just sayin.)


*Note, I read this to Mr.K whilst he was on his playstation and asked him to listen for mistakes. I got to the end and he said to me "where are the muffins you made this morning?" Yeah, thanks for listening. Pft.

Thinking of a title takes too much time.

And I am too busy to think of a title today. 

In fact, I am too busy to even write a blog post today. 

Trying to think of something that is even remotely funny, witty, insightful or possibly all of the above is just out of the question. 

Out.Of.The.Question.

And don't even make me think about how much time it takes for me to scroll through my albums of pictures to find the one that I actually want to use. 

And then there is the whole part about semi obsessively checking back on my blog to see if a kind soul or two has commented (rarely happens). 

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT PEOPLE. 

I am serious. 

So serious that you should check out the massive stack of Come Dine With Me's that I have recorded (at least 33) that I haven't watched yet. 

Unbelievable. 

Because I honestly love Come Dine With Me. 

But really I don't even have time to write about how truly unbelievable it is. 

I AM FAR TOO BUSY FOR THAT.

 I need to dedicate my waking hours to boring, BORING, BORING research and ethics readings and other school junk. 

(Don't tell the lecturers that I called it junk. They will give me bad grades.) 

And who can afford to get a bad grade and to have to rewrite an essay? 

NOT ME. 

Because I'm far too busy. 

I definitely don't have to time to waste. 

Like by watching clips on youtube. 

(Even though I am still completely flabbergasted by this.) 

It makes me laugh it is so incredible.

 But don't you even think that I have time to be laughing now. 

I am so busy and it is no laughing matter. 

And let's try to avoid thinking about the fact when I was tidying at the weekend I forgot to do the spare the bedroom. 

Let's especially not think about it because it's cold in there and it is full of random stuff that has to be manoeuvred if you want to clean properly. 

And then there are all the unavoidables and unmissables. 

Brushing teeth, reading scriptures, showering, dropping Ross off at work, making approximately 17 glasses of orange squash, calling & hanging up on Ross at least once, making an edible dinner (actually, I like cooking, my dinners are always edible, it's when Ross cooks that we start to have problems) and lastly, writing my blog. 

Which I am far too busy to write today. 

(I'm serious.) 

Feelings Shmeelings

This photo has absolutely nothing to do with this post.
But it is for my dearest Annie's honour/viewing pleasure. In large.

When I woke up this morning I still felt sleepy. I'm not sure if I still felt tired or if it was just a sleepy feeling. Because they are two very different things ya know? Either way Mr.K drove himself to work and I went back to sleep. 


When I woke up again I felt just a tinsy winsy bit bad that while Mr.K got up and got ready for work I blatantly rubbed my lie in right in his face. His stubbly face. (Shave off your goatee dearest, you know I don't care for it!)


Then I marvelled at how soft the new bed sheet feels. It must be a like a zillion thread count. (At least!) Actually, I'm quite sure that that doesn't even exist, but seriously, this sheet is softer than any other sheet I've had the privilege, nay honour, of owning. 


After I'd done a few other menial, housewifery duties, I went into the living room and it was cold. So cold that I could feel it in my bones. So cold that it made my fingers slow when I was sending a text. So I turned on the heater, put on a cardigan and wrapped myself in a blanket on the sofa and I got to think. Thinking about feelings. And my mind boddled*. 


(As a side note, I know the phrase isn't the mind boddles. It's the mind boggles. I'm not stupid. But I like to say the mind boddles to see if anyone notices my mistake. I also sometimes say congrads or congradulations for the same reason!)


But my mind boddled because feelings are such peculiar things. Peculiar and precious. Feelings help us to remember that we're truly alive. We have physical feelings. Like feeling cold or hot. Or feeling ill, tired/sleepy or full of energy. I think that these feelings are straight forward enough. It's easy to recognise that you physically feel cold or ill. The tricky ones are these emotional types. Feeling angry or excited is pretty straight forward too I think. But what about when we feel hurt, or lonely or anxious? Strange feelings. I wonder if they are the same for everyone?


I'm all for sharing feelings. It's how we get to know ourselves and other people better. And there's little that is more meaningful than making profound connections and friendships with people. 


I'm not too sure what to think about this post. It's more thoughtful than my usual style. I feel a bit self conscious about putting it out there for the whole world to read. Not that I'm deluding myself into thinking that the whole world even reads this...






* Something else that boddles my mind is thinking about colour. Well, how we perceive colour. I've always wondered if we all see the same colours. Like when I look at the grass, do I see the same colour or shade of green as Mr.K does? Or do we both see different colours which we know to be green, because we've be told that the colour of grass is green. My mind is spinning in circles right now. Is your mind boddled too? Maybe I will write more about mind boddling some other time. 

Home

Mr. K & I have been married for almost four months now. Time has absolutely flown. And in those four months we've slowly been trying to make the little apartment that we rent into a home. It's lacking some of those little finishing touches and personal details that would really make it feel like we live here and like it's our home. Just recently we finally got lampshades in every room. And surprisingly that makes a massive difference. We've got a few things up in the wall, but nowhere near as many as I would like. I want pictures of our families, Mr. K & I as kiddiewinks lovely pictures of us together and in lovely frames. It would be really good to have some curtains. Especially in our bedroom. Because there's a really, really annoying safety light that illuminates our bedroom at night with an annoying orange glow. So our bedroom doesn't get very dark at all. It's surely bad for our sleep pattern. Maybe I wouldn't get grumpy so often if the bedroom was darker & I could sleep better. And mirrors. The only mirrors that we have are the two that are on the cabinets in the bathrooms. They're great for doing make up in, but if I want to check out my outfit before I go out, I either have to jump and get a quick glance or climb up on the bed. Saying that reminds me that I need to change our bedding today. Lots of little touches would make our house feel much more homely.

We went back to my parents house a few weekends ago for lunch and even though we were just sat with the family watching TV, which is just what Mr. K & I do a lot anyway, it felt so much more like we were in a proper home. It was just lovely. (Note: how many time can you use the word lovely in one blog post. Loads.) I like Mr. K's & mine little apartment, and it's a home because we're here together, but it still needs the touches. Still needs the touches.