30 degrees outside, the corner shop has run out of everything but chipolatas and you’re on a deadline. But having recently found myself up-the-duff, cookery and consumption has taken on a whole new meaning as of late.
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As if it wasn’t enough that none of my underwear fits me anymore, or that there’s a strong likelihood I’ll soon develop varicose veins and start wetting myself when I sneeze; I’ve also gone off nearly everything I once loved to eat.
For a food blogger, as you can imagine, this is a pretty strange place to be. My love of fine dining and culinary adventure has been replaced by a penchant for salted snacks, fizzy drinks, and anything pickled. I look at my oven with an overwhelming sense of resentment, yet resemble one of Pavlov’s pooches when passing a Maccy D’s drive-thru.
And, as Sod’s Law would have it, the few vaguely civilised things I still actually want to eat, are the ones which Te Big School of Pregnancy says are strictly out of bounds. Right now I’d be willing to enter staunch negotiations with Rumplestiltskin for any of the following:
1Dippy egg and soldiers 2 A rare steak 3Pâté 4A ripe goat’s cheese 5A magnum of champagne
Ok, so that last one isn’t technically food, but I’d still quite like it. And I’m not allowed any of it, for fear that the baby might come out looking like
42 /August 2013/
outlineonline.co.uk
ood and recipe writing doesn’t always come easily, especially when it’s
Shane McGowan and Miss Piggy’s lovechild.
One loyal foodstuff which thankfully hasn’t forsaken me as of yet is cake. Particularly the classics such as a Victoria sponge, or a cream laden bun. And I’m taking this opportunity to eat as much of it as I jolly well like. Tere are few perks to pregnancy, I have found - other than not having to lift anything heavy and dodging cleaning the cat’s litter tray - but one biggie is that you can stuff your face with a very large quantity of cake and experience a very small amount of guilt.
Oh, and I suppose I get a baby at the end of this whole thing, I should probably mark that one down as a perk too. Babies! Yay!
As a result of this cakey camaraderie, this month I have to admit I’ve made more than one batch of the traditional British favourite – the humble scone. Tey may not be the most extravagant piece of patisserie around, but they’re an excellent crowd pleaser.
In my case, the benefit of making them is twofold: I can satisfy my cravings, and make up for being a hideous human being to my other half. Because my new spectrum of hormones not only means that I cry at adverts for mortgages, but I can also go from Holly Willoughby to Hulk Smash in 0.5 seconds. I’ve never been more charming.
So, if you see me over the next 4 months and I scream in your face, suck it up, I’ll probably make you a cake and tell you how pretty/handsome you are ten minutes later.
Morgan Pickard
Classic Scones
INGREDIENTS 500g self-raising flour, plus extra for dusting 2 tsp baking powder 320g cold salted butter 25g caster sugar 260ml full-fat milk
METHOD Preheat your oven to 200c/gas mark 6 and line two baking trays with parchment paper. Mix together the flour, baking powder and butter with your fingers tips, until all the big lumps of butter are broken up and you have a breadcrumb like texture.
Mix in the sugar (if you’re a bit mentally unhinged and you like dried fruit in your scones, then by all means throw some in at this point) and gradually start to add the milk, working with your hands to form a spongy dough. It it’s too sticky to handle, add more flour.
Scatter some flour on the work surface and roll out the dough to about ¾” thick. Cut as many scones as you can and evenly space on the baking tray. Bake for 10-15 mins, when they are golden and firm on top.
Leave to cool for 5 minutes, then smother with a grotesque amount of clotted cream and jam, and serve.
Morgan writes her own, hilarious blog on the internet. You can visit it and do a laugh wee wee at
sodnigella.blogspot.co.uk
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