Hi friends. I’ve been away for a while. But I’m here now. Did you know that natural sunlight is pretty imperative to food photography if you have no artificial lighting? Yeah. It is important. I’ve just been taking awful photo after awful photo. But then I woke up one morning and it was like Beyonce was standing in the doorway: there was an overwhelming burst of sunshine, my hair blew back, and I knew everything was going to be OK. I whipped up my usual Bacon, Egg & Avocado Bagel and I snapped these pictures for you. This recipe is fucking delicious.
I wake up like this.
This recipe is Flawless.
It was the Best Thing I Ever Had.
OK OK I’m done.
Here I am doing some Christmas worship:
Get off the floor you fuckin weirdo.
Thanks mom and dad, for capturing these precious moments in my life. Who knows what was happening here (maybe it was the velvet shirt EW) but it was probably my sister’s fault…which is maybe why she laughs the hardest at this picture.
And I know what you’re thinking, that photo looks familiar, right? Well allow me to refresh your memory…
Hello my babies.
It’s raining here in Victoria and when I think of rain, I inevitably think of soup. (Obviously, what a cliche train of thought…This girl is so boring.) When I was growing up, my mom would make soup or stew on rainy days, and I would cry. It seems kind of dramatic, but soup just isn’t my style. The only thing that made me cry faster than soup was being dragged along to Fabricland with my mom. A stranger’s van is more kid-friendly than Fabricland. (Sorry, mom. Love you.) Anyway, let’s get back to this bangin’ SOUP.
That moment during breakfast when you’re bent over eating, and then your eggs become kind of stringy and then you realize it’s because you’re eating your own hair.
Almost three years ago I hosted my own tea party. I made brownies, cake and scones, tiny cucumber sandwiches, and brewed different varieties of tea. It was SO. Sweet.*
*Except for the part where my older sister arrived hungover even though she knew when the tea party was because it happened to be at her very own house, Steph I’m talking to you. NEVER FORGET.
You know when you are really cool and confident, and everything you want to say comes out smoothly? I don’t. I do know how it feels to sneeze and fart at the same time in public, or trip over my own toe…
“Katie. Why don’t you just go to Jessica Seinfeld’s website? Jerry Seinfeld’s wife. She has a food blog AND a cookbook, and she is funny. Just send her a picture of yourself and say you admire her and MAYBE she will link you to her thousands of Instagram followers? THAT’S who you should be making connections with. People like that.”
What have I been waiting for? All I have to do is email the most famous people I can think of? DOY. Well fuck it, why don’t we just skip Jessica Seinfeld and go straight to Oprah??
Mom, you’re the cutest.
I like a cake that can be paired with tea. I am a tea girl. A sweetea, if you will. I have never been crazy about lemon-flavoured desserts, though; you won’t find me having any sort of lemon party here. But throwing a bunch of butter into the batter really balances the citrus in this recipe, and it’s even topped with a lemon-butter syrup that soaks right into the cake. And yeah, I’m still going to spread butter on every slice, because I’m a butterface. Wait – no.
Just try this recipe and check your teeth.
I was watching Master Chef the other night, where during the “dreaded pressure test” (do they have to use that phrase every single time?) the contestants had to make croquembouche – a cone-shaped tower of cream puffs, held together by threads of caramel. I’m an arrogant asshole of a baker, and I was like, “lol yeah I could do that”.
..Well I didn’t do it. But I did make the cream puffs, and I plan to try croquembouche one day. And it is actually good to be an arrogant baker – it will help you to try new recipes without fear. I don’t always succeed at everything I bake, but I have nailed a few recipes on my first try. Not because I’m a particularly skilled baker, but because I assumed I could do it. (I told you, arrogant.)
So be an arrogant asshole in your kitchen. Be a dick. Because if you want to be a baker, eventually you’ll have to let go of Betty Crocker’s hand!