Sometimes, I really don’t know why I bother.
You see, we’ve been invited out for dinner with friends tonight. Which I’m very, terribly excited about, because with all the greatness of being married to a Chef – just ask anyone who isn’t married to one how fabulous it is! – we are very rarely invited to anyone’s house for dinner, because no one wants to cook for a chef.
And with the invite, I/we were asked to bring dessert. My forte, and something I love to do. Except that The Chef always gets the credit. He even got the credit for the Cheezel Cake. Despite the fact he is not a pastry chef, and reguarly tells me so. Fortunately, these friends know better and he was unlikely to get the credit for it.
I decided to try out a new Chocolate Self Saucing Pudding recipe we discovered. Now, a maker of CSSP for quite some time now, usually referring to a recipe I’ve used for quite some time now, but haven’t done for ages because Monkey Boy doesn’t like it (weird child), attempting a new recipe was no big deal. And it looked scrumptious. And relatively easy.
It did call for ramekins for individual serves of the pudding. We don’t own any of those, because we had a set of six sititng, unopened and therefore unused, in our cupboard and getting in the way for 10 years, so we ditched them last week. But I could do it as one big pud, easy peasy. And, as I was baking it at our host’s house, I left it till late in the afternoon. After all, you don’t want nice chocoalte pudding mix, complete with finely chopped chocoalte sitting around your house all day. It wouldn’t last, what with all those pesky children. And husband.
Monkey Boy in assisting mode, we broke up some chocolate and put it in the chopper thing (ok, I can cook, but don’t ask me to give you the corrent terminology for things) and commenced the finely chopping of good quality, dark cooking chocolate. We didn’t get much beyond ‘commenced’ as the chopper thingo didn’t just stop working, but literally fell apart. I sorted the finely chopped from the not so finely chopped and set about finely chopping. Manually.
Monkey Boy, in the meantime, was bouncing around having his hand slapped for stealing chocolate and asking what he could do to help. “Pour the milk, eggs and that melted butter into that bowl and whisk. No, with a whisk. No they’re tongs, the whisk. No, not the ladel, the whisk. Yes, that one. What do you mean its too hard? It’s whisking liquid! No, it shouldn’t be thick and hard to whisk. Oh, fffff….. fufffuf. The butter is no longer melted, please leave the room so I may swear loudly without judgement and comment from you. Thank you.”
Herein lay the dilemma. I have not melted butter mixed with my eggs. Attempts to remelt butter would result in cooking of egg. Leaving as it was would probably result in completely fucked pudding for which I would have been happy to allow Grumpy credit, only no one would believe that. Or worse, I could go and buy a dessert, but that just doens’t work for me. No, not a good mother thing. I just like good food.
Sieved the mix to remove lumps of congealed butter, melted another 75g and mixed it all in.
Dessert was fantastic.
But really, I can live without the drama.