Okay, so it’s been 2016 for awhile now, actually. But it’s been a busy one: between ongoing illness (what up, Christmas head cold), a full-on back to work schedule, and a surprisingly active social calendar, there has been a big baking void in my life.
My grandmas are nothing if not hospitable. They both claim to find it stressful, and to dislike having people congregating in their respective kitchens, but they both – in their own special ways – are natural born hostesses.
I rarely make cakes for myself. That’s not to say I don’t like cake, because of COURSE I do. I love cake. But if I ate everything I baked, well, I’d probably look a whole lot different.
Have you ever visited a place and felt immediate inspiration? I have, a handful of times. Not in Paris, where a sense of wariness and the scent of garbage marred anything good; nor in Berlin, where a cold snap and room service tempted me away. But, a few weeks ago, Rome caught my eye.
When I met my boyfriend just over two and a half years ago, our first date happened to fall on his first day of university. He was following his course all online, so it was fine – but he claims I’ve distracted him ever since. In reality, he’s just not a very big fan of essay writing (who is?), but through the muck and the mire he’s made it to the end of his second year – one left to go!
Okay. I know. I haven’t been blogging. Again.
That’s not to say I haven’t been baking – because, as ever, I have. But weekdays have gone into hyperdrive, and weekends have become less about cataloging sweets and more about lying in (if only for an hour or so).
My grandma always claimed she wasn’t much of a sweet tooth. Or, at least, not compared to my grandpa and me.