A New Year's Eve different and sweet.
Perhaps my feelings of a warm winter in store are coming to fruition. Despite having eschewed a visit outside so far today, it looks pretty warm indeed. The roof tiles are witness to the sun's strength as now they are back to a healthy brown.
It has so far been a delightfully lazy Sunday spent at home. Bob and I had a nice batch of fried eggs on toast and then we leisurely lounged about the lounge. History documentaries back to back on the telly, which we both like to watch. About halfway into the first one, Bob disappeared into the kitchen and I kept on hearing sounds of activity emanating from it.
Bob, who has talked about it for weeks had taken the bull by the horns and made a batch of Chelsea buns from scratch. Good grief, nothing ordinary about Bob...straight to a difficult culinary hurdle. Mausi and I were dozing on the couch and only woke up now and again when a bowl was stirred too vigorously or when Bob deshelled walnuts from our garden by using a hammer. Twenty of them. Each with at least five loud hammer encounters!
I must say, making Chelsea buns seems a long and laborious affair although, Bob wasn't put off by it. On the contrary, he skipped and hopped in and out of the kitchen keeping me abreast of each step.
The final step of course was the best in the spectator's gallery...an aroma of ambrosia had wafted into the lounge and into my senses. Is there anything better than the smell of fresh baking? Only one thing trumps that...the actual tasting of it.
Cunningly I suggested to Bob a divine way of testing whether they were baked to perfection.
" Take one and cut it in half. "Hook line and sinker. Offering myself as a tester, I had the pleasure of tasting his Chelsea bun straight out the oven and it was fabulous. Not to sweet and the dough nice and fluffy. Dear Bob, that is the first of many Chelsea buns to be made and I can't wait to be the taster each time...I married well.