I have a confession.
I fall in love a lot. I fall head over heels for songs, for scents, for tastes. I will spend a week eating almost exclusively freshly baked bread, or foods containing peanut butter. I will spend a whole day inhaling next to a freshly cut bunch of sweet peas, until, as sweet peas do, they suddenly crumple into a dry shiver of falling petals. I’m a hedonist, and a romantic too.
I fall for boys. Preferably, boys with brains and issues. It really is only a matter of time before I’m declaring my love for a zombie.
Usually my falling in love goes like this: meet boy. Fall for boy. Flirt, between moments of crippling insecurity. Discover boy has a girlfriend/isn’t interested/is actually entirely unsuitable. Cry, get drunk, bake, cry, sing, get over it.
I met a boy, who I already knew like the back of my hand, a boy I first met on September 11th 2001. Somewhere between that day and this, we’d started to fit like jigsaw pieces. We kissed and all sorts of things that had been fizzing around inside me fell gently into place. He went to ground.
He begged my forgiveness, I forgave him. We kissed some more. He already knew what I liked to read, I knew what made him shiver (and there’s less difference between those things than you might expect, being bookish types). I let all my defences down, enjoyed the quietness of being happy.
I haven’t heard from him in weeks. My friends expect me to be angry, while I’m waiting for the day when all I can do is cry to Imogen Heap. Instead I’m sort of floating by, managing everything all the same. It’s not lost on me that as I move one step closer to crazycatladydom, this little guy has befriended me.
So I’m enjoying the first days of autumn alone. Today my dear, silly friends collected me and we went to look at houses. I’m looking forward to living with them, though I suspect I may quickly become their kitchen wench. The leaves are starting to turn and the sunlight is low and crisp. We’re alternating between gusty wind and streaming rain, and bright Indian Summer days. My chilli pepper is flourishing in the hot, low light.
Autumn promises spice and warmth, and nothing evokes them for me like pumpkin recipes. Cinnamon, eggs, butter, sugar, and pumpkin. I start work tomorrow, so a batch of pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon icing, and for the vegan staff vegan chocolate cupcakes with chocolate buttercream frosting (also vegan, of course).
I baked while watching Julie and Julia. It was as delightful as I’d hoped. A lazy Sunday, with a lovely film, ginger tea, and a busy kitchen.
No recipes for this update, because I used cookbooks instead of making it up or cobbling it together. Miracles do happen.
Continue reading →
