Nº1CDA: More is less hypothesis-2,3,4 interesting.

Hello, we’ve been a bit lackadaisical at Wondercat for various reasons that will be posted about soon.

Remember the ongoing alcohol and hangovers experiment? we have results for trials 2-4…

Trials 2 and 3 were conducted in Brighton (which will be posted about soon).  Despite our advancing years we managed two consecutive nights of drinking and dancing (I never considered the additive effects of consecutive trials, I may need to update my protocols).  Sparing you the gory details for another time, this is all about the experiment after all…

Things were still going as predicted.  Hangover was just tiredness really so it seemed that still being drunk the next day confers hangover protection.  Damage to property is consistant with normal wear and tear…all going great!  So very pleased with the results!

Then…

Trial 4: Kimmer’s birthday drinks

Who knew we would end up dancing?  It wasn’t in the original plan, so I didn’t accessorise accordingly.

Alcohol consumed = so many bad things…Socio Rehab provided many cocktails (my new favourites being the Beyonce Diet Lemonade and the Screwball Martini). A Jagerbomb or twelve (or a *insert random alcohol* bomb-don’t ask it got confusing, just because you put in in a shot glass doesn’t make it a *something* bomb…a vodka and redbull is a vodka and redbull no matter how you serve it) was ingested through the evening.

Morning Status = Still Drunk

Hangover = Feel fine

Signs of Debauchery = Oh sweet Jesbudallah!

I managed, despite feeling terribly nauseated, to avoid vomiting in the taxi…this self control didn’t last to the front door…there is a grid on our street with most my internal organs down it (so exquisitely sophisticated, my head is hung).

Worst of all I LOST THIS!!!!!!!

MY TIFFANY RING!!!  IT’S GONE!!!!  LOST FOREVER SOMEWHERE!!!

I AM SO DEVASTATED!!! I GOT IT ON MY HONEYMOON!!!!

So, Mykie has paid the ultimate price in the name of science (that’s right, the ultimate price is accessory based).  Whist he may have formulated a way to avoid a hangover the cost of getting there in terms of accessory damage (and reputation damage) can be enormous.  I think he needs to apologise to the neighbours he woke up at 3am sobbing his heart out, vomiting his innards up, crawling down the street in the rain for an hour looking for jewellery…

Shame, Shame, Shame

Advertisements

Wondercat Bakery: Cream puffs?

The elves whipped up some cream puffs when Adam and Kalli came to dinner. Who knew you could turn up the gay on a cream puff?

Choux Puffs with Orange Crème Pâtissière, Vanilla Cream and a Chocolate Ganache flourish!

Buns

Pre-heat your oven to 200°C. Bring the water and butter to the boil in a saucepan, take off the heat and add the dry ingredients quickly then whack the pan back on the heat and and stir furiously with a wooden spoon. It will turn into a strange, smooth, shiny dough ball after a couple of minutes that quite frankly, turns my stomach…my head says yummy dough but my heart screams MELTED BABY! Take off the heat and beat that daemon baby glob with the wooden spoon until it is luke warm (and definitely dead, unable to climb from the pan and eat your face). Beat the eggs then stir them into the dough until it forms a nice smooth paste that no longer resembles plastic surgery off-cuts. Pipe into about 12 blobs on a lined backing tray, egg wash them if you feel the urge then pop them in the oven. After 15 minutes turn the oven down to 170°C, do not open the oven to peek (really, just don’t do it, you’ll end up with a tray of deflated breasts)! After another 30 minutes they should be golden and crisp. Stab each one with a sharp knife to release the tortured souls of the daemon babies (or steam, or perhaps both) turn the oven off and pop them back in to dry out whist you get on with creating the delightful, sweet innards.

Orange Crème Pâtissière

Mix the yolks, sugar, flours to a nice smooth paste in a large bowl (or jug, something with a spout is a good plan or you may cover the kitchen in sticky mess…I did). Heat the milk and orange zest in a pan until just beginning to boil. Pour the hot milk into the bowl of other things and whisk. Tip it all back into the pan (this is where a spout comes in very handy), heat and whisk until it is thick and unctuous…then stir in the orange juice. Set aside to cool.

Vanilla Crean

Split the vanilla pop and scrape the seeds into a bowl of double cream. Whisk slowly and add enough icing sugar until it is sweet enough for you. I haven’t included any measurements as there is nothing better than left-over sweetened cream to gorge on later (avoid the Arc of Shame).

Chocolate Ganache

Just melt the chocolate and stir in the cream. No measurements hear either for the same reason. You need a lot more cream than you do chocolate; not enough cream and you’ll get a solid (yet delicious) mess.

All that is left is assembly. Cut the buns in half, using star nozzles and piping bags fill the bottom with the crème pâtissière, top this with the vanilla cream, put the bun top back on, a flourish of chocolate ganache…et voila!

I topped with a sprinkle of chopped hazelnuts and served with some strawberries lightly cooked with the juice of the rest of the orange (waste not want not) and some sugar…I managed to resist adding edible glitter (barely) after all, how gay can these things be before they chassé off the plate?

I think everyone enjoyed them. Adam is smiling (but I did tell him to smile for the photo) and we all wolfed them down.

So that’s how you gay up a cream puff folks! Imagine what we could do with a long, thick éclair and a good squeeze of cream?

The top tier…

The boys recently celebrated their first wedding anniversary.  Since the big day the top tier has been in the freezer.  It is traditional to store the top tier to use as the christening cake for the couples first born…

Mykie makes a fucking good cake!

Christening is one of the last things I’d inflict upon a child, if they wanted to when they were older I wouldn’t stop them but it’d be their choice…We could always use the cake for some sort of Naming Ceremony for the Himalayan Whistle Kid we would purchase from Ebay Adoption…or not…

We defrosted the cake this weekend and gorged ourselves on the still deliciously decadent fruit cake with chocolate fondant (it contains enough brandy to preserve it forever…nuclear war, I know what the cockroaches would be eating).  It’s just a cake, right?  Nope, for me it was making the final decision to not have children (I always enact major life choices with cake).So what has brought me to the point of “Mykie says No to Children” (apart from the sweet siren song of forbidden fruit cake)?

I always wanted kids, from the days of being a homo in the wardrobe (we are in England people, we don’t have closets here) right through until the last few years.  I used to sit and pick out baby names with my girlfriends (my childless status is probably a blessing for this reason alone…no one else seems that fond of Quinilda or Theodora) and it upset me terribly when the cool kids next door moved away.  I love playing with kids and coddling babies and generally interacting with little perkins; Unfortunately, if I had some of my own it would all go horribly wrong.  This isn’t going to be a self indulgent, queeny rant about how I can’t even look after myself/my life is far too fabulous/I’m too high maintenance to think of anyone else…blah, blah, blah.  The reason I don’t think it would be a good idea is that I’ve thought about some things too much and others not enough…there are no do-overs with kids…if you fuck them up…you pay the psychologists bill.

I’ve read that kids learn languages more easily in their early years and learning a musical instrument can positively influence brain development.  I’d also like them them to have opportunities I didn’t like gymnastics from a very young age/baby ballet/baby yoga/baby swimming…so far the kid is speaking Cantonese/Mandarin/English/Spanish/French, playing the piano/violin/guitar/saxophone/dulcimer whist tumbling to music ending in a grand finale full-in-full to lotus position…I’ve not even started with the arts curriculum.  Despite all this planning and a horrible fear my little baby would miss out on a life changing opportunity…I only learned that you have to brush a baby’s teeth a few weeks ago.

And the list goes on…

• I want Quinilda to think critically and rationally, so do I tell her about Santa?
• I want her to express herself, but she needs to know about boundaries…do I smack her?  Do I have a naughty step?  Do I let her run naked through the streets pissing down her leg?
• I’ve heard you can raise a baby without nappies…they can be taught to crap on demand…I would be testing this.
• I want her to enjoy healthy foods and the natural sweetness of fruit and veg, can I really deny her chocolate and other super-normal stimuli?
• What time do babies go to bed?
• What is the best food for a baby?
• What do I do if she’s crap at everything?
• Or not very pretty?
• When do you let kids walk to school/cross the road on their own?
• What if she’s a friendless social misfit?
• Or a big dirty cum whore?

The summary of all these points is that I know how much pressure I put on myself to do things well, I don’t want to transfer my insecurities and neuroses to a child…I don’t want to be a pushy soccer/pageant/dance school mum…but I know I would be…I would try and squash so much into the kids life so they didn’t miss out they would end up hating and resenting me which would break my heart.

I don’t think you can “win” at child rearing…

Unfortunately you can’t just try harder and harder to be a good parent…

I think it takes a degree of temperance that I simply do not possess.

So I have shed a tear this week (as I stuffed myself with cake) but I am happy being Uncle Mykie if the opportunity presents itself.  I don’t feel a void in my life that I need to fill with multi-racial small people. I will content myself with bedecking other peoples kids in Baby Dior and Disney Princess ensembles.

You can still see the footprints! The only tiny footprints in this house.

I am king of this house and I wouldn’t want what amounts to the bastard hybridization of a loaf of bread and a fog-horn anywhere near me.  Let’s not forget people…Mykie has just chosen cake over children…he would be an awful daddy.

Lazy Days

I know I’ve not posted much in the last week or two…as you can see I’ve been busy…

In reality, Mykie has been terribly busy with work and I employ him to type most of the time…

Normal service should resume shortly. 😉

Nº1 CDA: Northcote

Hello, I’ve had a week or so off from blogging as I’ve been on holiday whist the boys had a decorator in.  Have I missed anything?  The boys have been off work as it was Simon’s birthday and their first wedding anniversary!  They went away a few times and visited a few places, I asked Mykie to keep notes for me…

Northcote

If you’ve seen the Great British Menu in the last few years you will be familiar with Nigel Haworth and Lisa Allen (Nigel is a managing director, former head chef and Lisa is current head chef of Northcote).

It was Simon’s birthday so to kick start our week off we thought we would give Northcote a try.  After almost driving past it (even with sat-nav I am a cretin) we arrived at the manor.  Beautifully maintained architecture dripping with luscious flora, lovely gardens (including a quirky little walled herb garden) Northcote is a stunner.  You step inside into a lively, quite twenties environment with very friendly and accommodating staff.

Our room was a delight.  Spacious, overlooking the gardens, tasteful blue and copper-toned décor, Molton Brown toiletries and a bed wider than it was long…joy.

After a game of chess (the room has a selection of boardgames, Simon kicked my arse) our usual POA is to wander down to the lounge with a book, sit by the fire and take cream tea…this is where the popularity of Northcote becomes a bit of a negative.  It is really busy, and not just with other people quietly enjoying the surroundings.  There was a loud, uncouth family who had come for afternoon tea for somebodies leaving treat.  They were obnoxious and uncivilised to the point of bouncing mini Eccles cakes off a plate onto the floor whilst slurping “cosmos'”…it suffices to say I didn’t get far into my book.  I am being rather harsh as the other guests were courteous, polite and QUIET…but, with 70 covers for lunch and 40 evening I shouldn’t expect silence.

We went down for dinner and decided to have Lisa’s gourmet menu.  Those familiar with the Great British Menu will remember it from the show (will a few additions).  We went for the wine flight as we like experiencing well thought out wine matching with food.  The rabbit starter that got through to the banquet of GBM was lovely but the absolute star was THE DESSERT!  The dessert that Matthew, Prue and Oliver trashed to the point of Lisa changing it was fucking divine! Fruity, creamy and refreshing all at the same time, it was beautiful.  The matching dessert wine was also a highlight of the stay which was sweet, fruity with a slight fizzy taste (I will be buying gallons of the stuff);  We were however about five glasses in at this point so our judgement may be slightly impaired.

So Northcote, great food, lovely accommodation but not what we would describe as a “bolt-hole”.  We’ll definitely go back when we are in the mood for a delicious meal as its reputation for great food is very well deserved.

Do they serve cats I wonder…?

Coming Out: Part 3

So here’s the next instalment of Coming Out…

Mykie

So I was pulled out the closet against my will with regards to telling people.  I had peeked out the door but I was comfy snuggled up in the winter furs of denial.  It’s not that I hadn’t realised for a long time I was gay, it’s not even that I hadn’t done anything gay, I just wasn’t really ready to tell the world…not that it should have be a big shock to anyone; I had, after all spent  my childhood choreographing dance routines to Madonna songs with the neighbour girls whilst the boys were wrestling (hmmm?); My teen years were spent mostly bouncing around in Lycra.  Being from a small town where there didn’t appear to be any gay people made the idea of coming out seam like a really big deal…

So I moved away to Uni, my best mate from home told me he was gay, I still didn’t want to tell anyone…perfect opportunity really.  Then, out of the blue, I had no choice.  We had gone to “Torremolinos” (the end of year Uni party) where I had spent the evening getting friendlier with the barman I’d been flirting with all year… At the end of the night my best friend in the whole world who I’d spent the last year living with and getting to know, told me she had feelings for me…Eek!  I spent that night going through things in my head.  As far as I could see I had two choices, both not great…

1:  Spare my friends feelings, start a relationship and just hope I could play the part with a modicum of success.

2: Finally get around to telling someone I was gay and break my beloved friends heart in the process.

I chose 2.

Telling my parents happened a few weeks later.  I was at a family 18th birthday party and was ridiculously drunk.  My aunt came up to me and said “when are you going to get around to telling your parents?” (I say I don’t even know how she knew but, as I said before, you could see my gayness from space).  It’s all a bit hazy, I think I pretty much just blurted it out to my folks in front of everyone.  They were fine, but I really, really regretted it the next day and spent the whole day under my duvet sobbing…I felt like I’d let them down in some way…my sister reminded me yesterday she came and offered me a Malteser to make me feel better…she’s such a sweet darling.

So to follow were a few years of spiralling out of control.  I didn’t want to talk to my parents (even though they were fine about it), I ended up on really terrible terms with my best friend for over a year (awfully upsetting, thankfully all is now great) and pretty much managed to near kill myself with a delightful mixture of drugs, alcohol and eating disorders…fun, fun, fun. My first long term boyfriend (for over 3 years) turned out to be…shall we say “not the right person for me” and I wish my parents would have told me they thought he was a douche instead of thinking it would appear they were “disapproving of my lifestyle” and letting me figure it out for myself.

Reading back over this makes it seem quite bleak, at the time it didn’t seem so bad.  In retrospect, I just remember feeling really sad and lonely.

Thankfully Mykie managed to sort himself out and become a semi-productive member of society and is currently living out his Happily Ever After with Simon and I…Happy Days.

Coming Out! Part 2

Here’s the second post in our Pride special…

Adam Moxley, Manchester

I came out to my dad when I was 16 as I had a boyfriend at the time. I wanted to go to Newquay with him and his friends for a weekend, but before I went my dad wanted to know what my relationship with him was. I told him and was promptly told I wasn’t allowed to go! My mum then came up a few minutes later in floods of tears. She wasn’t particularly upset, but worried that my life would be far more troublesome than if I was straight.

I asked my dad why I wasn’t allowed to go away and he then clarified that he didn’t want me to see my boyfriend at all. On the grounds that I was 16 and he was 18 – this was all when the age of consent was 18 – and my boyfriend was breaking the law. Obviously being a teenager I didn’t take a blind bit of notice and carried on seeing him. We went out for a total of 3 months in the end. It was love 😛

Later I found out my dad lost his virginity when he was 14. I called him a hypocrite for ever having an issue with me having any kind of sexual activity when I was older than when he started!

My parents have since completely accepted me for who I am, even trying to set me up with holiday reps that they think fancy me. Slightly disturbing but touching at the same time.

Thanks so much for contributing Mr Adam!  Your not so wonderful gift will be in the post. 😉