Does blackberry juice wash out of white chocolate?
Of course not. Blackberry juice doesn't wash out of anything. But that didn't stop me trying.
It was the evening before my baby girl's christening. I'd followed Lorraine Pascale's "I can't believe you made that cake" recipe to the letter - so far, so divine. Then I reached the final instruction where she invites you to use your own imagination.
Dangerous advice, but I decided to take her at her word.
In possibly the most wildly imaginative act of my young-ish life, I decided to swap fresh raspberries (it is November, after all) for a frozen berry selection. I thawed them first - I'm not entirely witless - then ceremoniously dumped them on top of the lovely cake with its carefully constructed palisade of white chocolate cigarellos.
It looked like this:
I was pleased. I thought to myself, I can't believe I made that cake. But as I poured myself a smug Baileys, the cake actually started to bleed.
'It'll stop soon,' said my husband, the scientist. 'There's a finite amount of juice in there. It won't go on forever.'
It went on for about three hours. I dabbed at it every few minutes, but soon the kitchen resembled an abattoir. This called for direct action. We had to treat the cause, not just the symptoms. I took the berries off.
These things always look worse before they look better.
I had to abandon the ribbon - the blood-soaked look isn't good. I dried the surface of the cake with kitchen paper and tried to dry out the blackberries - but it soon became clear this was a fruitless task. It was like mopping up the sea.
By this time it was about 11pm and all the shops were shut. My decorative options were shrinking fast. I stood at the sink, trying to rinse blackberry juice out of the white chocolate cigarellos, like some horrible hybrid of Nigella and Lady Macbeth.
'Foliage!' my husband suggested. 'That's what you need. I'll find some.'
'What, now?'
'Yes. I'll go to the park. Now.'
So off he went in the middle of the night, clippers in hand. I dug out a packet of pretty but sour cranberries from the fridge and improvised.
It wasn't perfect, but it did the job. As long as you didn't look too closely.
Of course not. Blackberry juice doesn't wash out of anything. But that didn't stop me trying.
It was the evening before my baby girl's christening. I'd followed Lorraine Pascale's "I can't believe you made that cake" recipe to the letter - so far, so divine. Then I reached the final instruction where she invites you to use your own imagination.
Dangerous advice, but I decided to take her at her word.
In possibly the most wildly imaginative act of my young-ish life, I decided to swap fresh raspberries (it is November, after all) for a frozen berry selection. I thawed them first - I'm not entirely witless - then ceremoniously dumped them on top of the lovely cake with its carefully constructed palisade of white chocolate cigarellos.
It looked like this:
I was pleased. I thought to myself, I can't believe I made that cake. But as I poured myself a smug Baileys, the cake actually started to bleed.
'It'll stop soon,' said my husband, the scientist. 'There's a finite amount of juice in there. It won't go on forever.'
It went on for about three hours. I dabbed at it every few minutes, but soon the kitchen resembled an abattoir. This called for direct action. We had to treat the cause, not just the symptoms. I took the berries off.
These things always look worse before they look better.
I had to abandon the ribbon - the blood-soaked look isn't good. I dried the surface of the cake with kitchen paper and tried to dry out the blackberries - but it soon became clear this was a fruitless task. It was like mopping up the sea.
By this time it was about 11pm and all the shops were shut. My decorative options were shrinking fast. I stood at the sink, trying to rinse blackberry juice out of the white chocolate cigarellos, like some horrible hybrid of Nigella and Lady Macbeth.
'Foliage!' my husband suggested. 'That's what you need. I'll find some.'
'What, now?'
'Yes. I'll go to the park. Now.'
So off he went in the middle of the night, clippers in hand. I dug out a packet of pretty but sour cranberries from the fridge and improvised.
It wasn't perfect, but it did the job. As long as you didn't look too closely.
yay love it! have you got any left over?
ReplyDeleteNo, it all went on the day, sadly. Still got the cranberries, though... they looked better than they tasted!
ReplyDelete