Yummy Yummy Yummy, I got love in my tummy!

So it's halfterm (finally) and since school seems to be locked up tight, preventing me from catching up on the endless marking, it's time to cook. I've been poring over the many various cooking blogs out there, picking and choosing and pinning (God, but I'm loveing Pinterest) so many recipes for the future. I've discovered the Pioneer Woman Cooks, and I'm a total convert.

I cannot duplicate Ree's fabulously witty repartee, but whilst skyping with my good pal Effbit, we decided it would be fun to document some of the lovely things I've been making. Naturally we didn't think of this before commencing the days goodies. Oh no, only smart organised women do that and whilst Effie is sharp as a tack, it's halfterm and I can barely remember my own name, let alone remember to take pictures of my cooking from the start. So you'll just have to make do with Blue Peter 'Here's one I made earlier' shots, and step by steps for the main attraction.

So what are these goodies you speak of, I hear you cry, well as I'm currently craving nothing but unhealthy crap, they are mostly chocolate related. Today's efforts were Mars bar Crispies (or death on a plate as my mamma calls them, though I note that it doesn't stop her from eating them), BBQ pizza (cos I can't afford Dominos right now) and Chocolate Orange Muffins. The pizza and crispies will be later blog posts (if anyone actually manages to follow the recipe in this one!) Therefore, without further ado I give you

Chocolate Orange Brownie Muffins

This was the only decently piped muffin in the end, admire it at your leisure.

I first came across this recipe at KnitCamp in 2010. A very kind fellow Raveller came to catch up with me there and brought me these to munch on while I travelled between Edinburgh and Stirling. The plain muffins she made were so delicious, even a few days later, that I had to ask for the recipe and when she gave it to me, I couldn't believe how simple and quick it was. Naturally, being me, I've mixed it up a little and obviously you can too.

So what do you need to make these delectable delights?

For the muffins:

150g butter

190g sugar (It doesn't matter what colour, I use a third each of light brown, dark brown & castor (superfine) sugar)

130g Orange flavour drinking chocolate (I plumped for Options-Low Calorie in outrageous orange, but hell, who am I kidding? These brownies are nowhere near healthy. Eat them at your peril I tell you!)

1/2 tsp vanilla extract

2 large eggs (cold, so sticking in the fridge an hour or so before you want to use them)

2 tbsps ricotta cheese (optional, but it does make them extra yummy. Sadly, I had none left today)

80 g plain flour

For the frosting:

140g butter (room temp is best)

280g Icing (confectioners) sugar

1tbsp orange extract (or if like me you like cooking with booze, Grand Marnier)

a few drops of food colouring if you feel like it. Since it's Halloween, I'm going with orange ;-)

So good cooks make preparations, like placing their rack in the centre of the oven before pre-heating it to 225 centigrade (approx 435 Fahrenheit). Me, I turn the oven on, then hunt around for all the equipment I'll need, then have to use my oven mitts to move the rack back down from where I was grilling sausages the other day for my white hot mess o'pasta. nom nom nom!

Anyhoo, Preheat your oven to 225 and get out the following;

a microwaveable glass bowl,

a wooden spoon,

a sharp knife,

1/2 teaspoon measure,

a measuring jug,

a muffin tray,

Cupcake wrappers (I used silcone ones)

an ice-cream scoop (or a spoon if you like)

And so we get to the method, which like I said already, is unbelieveably simple.

cube the butter and place it into your glass bowl.

Place the sugars and drinking chocolate on top,

mmm Sandy Deliciousness

then microwave for about 30 seconds on high.

Please don't look at the mix I spilled when putting the bowl in!

You want to melt the butter and stir the contents together til totally combined. Don't panic if it looks curdled at this point. That's totally normal...apparently.

Don't panic Mr Mainwaring!

Now, return the bowl to the microwave and heat til it's hot. Not boiling, just hot. If the side of the bowl is unpleasantly warm to touch, then you're there. My 850 watt machine does this in just under a minute, but you'll want to adjust depending on how your baby works. Give the mix another good stir then leave the bowl to one side to cool down again

Now crack your eggs into the measuring jug, add the 1/2 tsp vanilla and beat them well.

Damn! With that belly I really shouldn't be making brownies.

Once the chocolate mix has cooled, add the eggs a wee bit at a time, beating well between additions and watch the mix go glossy. If you're going to add the ricotta, this is the time to do it folks.

Shiny shiny shiny

Add the flour and stir until there are no more streaks of flour visible. Now beat the whole mixture firmly for 40 strokes. You can do more if you like, but it's not necessary really.

Look at that snowstorm! And it's nothing compared to the blizzard of icing sugar I got all over the kitchen when making the frosting.

Put your cupcake wrappers into your muffin tray, then use your ice-cream scoop (or spoons if you like, I just find that the scoop helps me with portioning and is easier to use than spoons) to fill your cases. I got 9 muffins out of this mix.

Ooh, the timer caught an action shot. I flove action shots

Bake for 13-15 minutes in the centre of the oven. Once they're done, allow them to cool in the pan for 5-10 minutes, then remove from the pan and wrappers and allow to cool thoroughly before frosting. I took this opportunity to eat my BBQ pizza and watch 'Don't tell the bride' (what was the man thinking!) and this week's 'Haven' whilst trying to fix my Frankie scarf (don't even bother asking about that hot mess).

Making the frosting couldn't be simpler. Beat all the frosting ingredients in a bowl til they are totally combined and are piping consistency. If you need to make it runnier, add a little milk, to make it thicker, add a little icing sugar. Shove this mix into whatever piping implement you prefer. I have a wee gun whojamaflip from the pampered chef (thanks mum!) which works a treat. Pipe your muffins however you prefer, then munch away to your heart's (if not your ass's) content.

Immediately after the flash went on this photo, I dropped the piping gun, sending orange frosting everywhere. Ask Effie, she laughed like a drain while I cleaned it all up again.

And there you have it people. Chocolate Orange Brownie Muffins. Gooey, sticky, sweet delights.

Don't look at the piping. I'd had several ciders by that point.

Happy Cooking people! Effbit, If I could get these to you, I totally would. Damn that ocean between us :-(

BTW- This was my first recipe/tutorial so feedback would be appreciated, as would pictures of your finished muffins ;-)

You Can't Hurry Love

I think Pat Benatar might have been on to something. Love could possibly be a battlefield. I’ve spent a fair chunk of the last 6 months actively pursuing a relationship. I figured that I couldn’t whine about being single if I never left the house or met new people, so I re-activated the online dating profile, and accepted all offers from friends to hit the town, or village, or even the opening of an envelope. I was putting myself out there and praying that the right someone (if only for now) would magically appear. 

Now, I’m not totally unrealistic. I didn’t expect to find true love on my first date, or even the second or third. I even anticipated a few dire messages and dates but I genuinely didn’t expect the god awful quality of responses that I did get. They were bad enough that one could justify asking the truly clichéd question of: Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?

From the obvious, but highly boring, “Hi, how are you today” to the rather worrying “I used to write longer messages”, I think I’ve had every response possible. My current  favourite is the guy who simply wrote,” I read your profile and liked it. Now reply”. You’ve got to love his (misplaced in my opinion) confidence!

It wasn’t all doom and gloom. There were some possibles that actually made it to the real life date stage. Sadly, in all those cases, it rarely went beyond one date. 

One lucky man did make it to two dates, but spent his whole time on the second one whining about his ex and calling her ‘Her Ladyship’ in a really sarky tone of voice. Plus, not only did he not offer to pay for my cinema sweeties (not a deal breaker in my case) but he visibly cringed at the price of them. Now I can be as cheap as the next girl, and having worked in this particular chain of cinemas, I know all too well how over-priced their food is, but it was only £3. I thought that was quite restrained for me actually and when I added tight-fisted to being hung up on his ex, short (hey I tried!) and not as much chemistry as the 1^st date, a third one just wasn’t going to happen.

Now I know the online dating thing can work for some people. I have many, many friends who met that way, some of whom are even married now (Yes Katy, I mean you!).  For many it is a lot easier than trying to pluck up (or drink down) your courage to cross a crowded bar and try to speak to a stranger. Seeing a group of guys, or girls for that matter is very intimidating and even the most confident of individuals can falter when confronted by pals out in packs. 

I did try speed dating again this week. I went into town on Wednesday and in one evening dated 13 men. I do think that seeing someone in person, actually talking face to face, is much better than messing about online. At least you can tell within a few minutes whether you’’d actually like to speak to them again ;-) I apparently have 2 matches from that night, as well as several friendship matches, so I will be a good girl and go email them when I’ve finished talking to you guys. I’m just not holding my breath.

After many months of  trying, and with rapidly flagging enthusiasm for checking my messages, I’m beginning to think that love might not be for me. Much as I’d love to experience the loving husband, white picket fence and 2.4 children (though after my week of pet-sitting, I’ve crossed faithful doggy off this list), maybe they just aren’t meant for me. That’s not to say that I’m unhappy, because I’m not. I have a good job, fabulous friends all over the world and am in fact possibly the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. I am lonely though, and I’m not sure I can resign myself to be lonely forever, even though I’m starting to think I must. I'm beginning to think that a pint of haagen daz will be my only companion

For once, I’d actually like to see some comments on this, especially from people in a similar situation. What are your experiences?

When it's spring again, I'll bring again...

Ok, I'll begin with an apology for the lack of updates in the last 2 months. Sadly, the honest truth is that I have literally had nothing to say...til now.

My feet are fucked and my body broken, but I have had the best weekend away. My girlfriends Jo, Sally and I drove to Amsterdam for a girly weekend, and as always happens when we three get together...chaos ensued!

We started the trip in our usual fashion, meaning large chilled glasses of cider and a takeaway at Sally's place. We had good intentions of going to bed at a reasonable time, but as always, we chatted our hearts out and ended up getting about 4 hours sleep before we needed to leave at the ass crack of dawn on the Friday morning.

Sally, being Sally, was up and awake enough to straighten her hair, however as it was 2.30am, Jo and I settled for just brushing it before packing up the car and setting off for the Channel Tunnel. Being as it was the middle of the night, the journey passed uneventfully and we made it to the tunnel with just enough time to buy a hot drink before the train left.

This was the first time I had used the Tunnel in the car and I thought the whole thing was pretty confusing. None of the signs were clear, and at 5.30am, I wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box anyway. Neither was Sally, as with a blase 'it's all dark and there is no-one there' comment and despite the large red 'STOP HERE' signs, she roared past the passport control stop, Thelma and Louise stylee. All I saw from my perch in the backseat was a stunned face mouthing at us as we screeched past. We convinced Sal to reverse, and showed the rather humour-free french immigration officer our passports, then squealed with laughter as he crossed himself and wished us 'Bonne Chance' with our trip.

The crossing itself was surprisingly short and we were soon flying through the French countryside heading for our destination. We stopped in Belgium to use a restroom and buy some snacks. Sally was amused to come out and find Jo and I buying a cartoon porn comic and it kept us entertained for the rest of the journey to Amsterdam.We made it to the outskirts by about 11am and without too much faffing, we found a park and ride for the final leg of our journey. The decision to hop in a taxi from Amsterdam Central to our destination was unanimous and we were standing outside our rented flat in no time at all.

The flat was amazing. It looked like something from a film and I fully expected someone to call 'cut' as we stepped into the room. An open-plan loft, it was the full length of the house and as it was on the top floor, there was even a wee hatch in the kitchen, leading to a roof terrace. The decoration was very boho, and everywhere you looked there was something different to see. The french doors at the front opened to a view of the canal, and had pretty yellow and orange flowers blooming gloriously in their window box. However, we didn't have long to appreciate it as we had booked a bike tour of the city and we had to rush off to find our meeting point.

Now I need to point out that until that friday, I had not been on a bike in 20+ years. Not since I'd taken a nasty spill and lost all confidence. I was hugely wary about this part of trip and seeing the kamikaze drivers on the streets of city did nothing to alleviate my fears. There were cyclists everywhere and neither they, the vehicle drivers, or the pedestrians gave a stuff for any sort of road rules. I was pretty terrified and even Julius, our hot tour guide couldn't distract me from the fear factor of negotiating the streets. Thankfully, as we made our way to the quieter suburbs, I seemed to find my rhythm, and began to enjoy the ride. Admittedly, the bottle of wine that we shared in the midway break helped there, but don't knock it, I was a riding like a native after it! The tour lasted 3 hours and in our roughly 5 mile trek, we covered most of the city, and I definitely recommend trying it.

After dropping off the bikes back at the depot, we wandered home to change for dinner. Funnily enough, the long day took it's toll, and our '5 minutes rest' turned into an hours nap. We were shattered! But we still managed to summon enough energy to head out into the city again in search of food. We wandered across the Dam square, heading out towards the Red Light District. The shops were still open, even though it was approaching 8pm and we had fun popping in and out of various shops, window shopping for the souvenirs we would buy before we left. We found a small Italian place on Damstraat where the food was gorgeous, and the prices relatively low before meandering home for some much deserved sleep.

The next morning we headed back up the damstraat again in our (very misguided) search for the noordermarkt. We ended up in Rembrandt's Corner, right beside the Rembrandt House, for breakfast and while Sally pottered off round the nearby flea market, Jo and I put our feet up. Jo pulled out her book, and I whipped out my knitting. It was really lovely to just kick back and relax, watching the world go by. We were highly entertained by the large group of kids, maybe 12 years old average, all following their tourguide like baby ducklings, while he merrily waved his triple X flag and led them deep into the red light district. Then there was the cute collie dog who trotted past us carrying a pint of milk, with no apparent owner in sight. We happily sat there for hours, and when Sally returned we ordered some cocktails before heaing off to start the souvenir shopping.

We were all impressed with how friendly and welcming the natives were and nearly everyone spoke fantastic English. You could tell that they were genuinely happy to chat with you, and the despite the ever present cannabis, the city itself had a friendly upbeat atmosphere to it.

Before we knew it, the day was nearly over and we headed back to the flat to get ready for our guided tour of the red light district. We had returned via the rather upmarket (according to the guidebook) grocery store, Albert Heijn, and so we had some crisps and a few bttles of wine to smooth the getting ready process, but actually we wasted a happy half an hour hanging out the french doors, watching the world go by and dropping crisps on any good looking man we spotted. 2 bottles of wine later and we were ready to start the going out process.

The tour's starting point for the on the damrak was easy to find and we made it with time to spare, so naturally we thought that the only thing to do was to go to the Vodka Museum next door for a few more drinks. The guy behind the bar was from Belorusse and didn't really know what to make of us at all. Still, he poured us a shot of grey goose each and chatted as he did, killing the time until our tour.

Sadly our tour guide seemed a little dry, though we did our best to liven things up. As you can probably imagine, the district is very seedy. There didn't appear to be any girls older than 22/23 and while most looked bored standing in their windows, there were some who just looked terrified. I was surprised to hear that though prostitution has been legal in Amsterdam for 10 years, the girls still find it hard to open bank accounts, or invest their money etc. Not only that, but they pay almost 50% in taxes on the money they declare. The windows they stand behind are rented from the brothel for a certain period of time, and the doors cannot be opened from the outside. Only the girls can let someone into the room, and as well as having a panic button by the bed, there is a back door which cannot be locked from the inside, allowing help to come to their rescue if needed.

Once the tour was over, we headed back into the very small china town to get some tea. Sadly, all the food shops were closing and the place we ended up in was pretty crap. Still, it didn't stop us acquiring the remnants of a stag party and heading off to a local's bar for a few drinks. Jamie, the stag, had been abandoned by most of his friends, and along with his pal graham, was happy to spend an hour or two shooting the breeze and knocking back booze with three fine looking women. And be assured, we were looking fuckawesome hot! I was even told I looked like Adele, the singer, and one guy in the locals bar came over to tell me that my hair (a full-on 60's beehive) looked amazing. It really was a fantastic night and we were beaming as we wandered back home through the busy streets.

Sunday morning, dawned with a cacophany of church bells, though luckily, none of us were particularly hungover. We had booked to see the Anne Frank House, and decided to do that before grabbing brunch somewhere. All of us were thankful that Sally had pre-booked our tickets, cos the queue weaved halfway around the block and didn't move particularly fast. However, with our pre-booked tickets and arranged time slot, we were able to bypass the whole queue and go straight in.

You begin your tour in the offices of the main building, below the secret annex itself. These floors offer an insight into the events leading up to the families going into hiding and have videos from some of those who helped them to remain hidden up there for 2 years. Then, stepping through the small gap behind a moveably bookcase, you enter the annex itself. Whilst not tiny, the rooms are not very large, especially when you remember that 8 people had lived there for 2 years. You can still see the marks on the wall, where Otto and Edith had marked the girls heights and in Anne's room, like any teenager, the walls are covered in posters of movie stars and pictures of various royal families. The rooms are empty, as when Otto Frank realised that his children would not return to him, he swore the place would never looked lived-in again. It was heartbreaking to realise that Anne died mere weeks before Bergen-Belsen was liberated and died thinking that her entire family had gone before her.

We had a quiet brunch in the city then said our good byes to the flat. It had been such a wonderful weekend, and no-one wanted to go home but real life beckoned. with our belongings gathered, we made our way back to the park and ride and began the long journey home again. I'm already planning my next visit to the beautiful Amsterdam, and thoroughly recommend you seeing it at some point in your lives.

Grease is the Word...or not as the case seems to be

So I'm a big musicals person. I am a mine of useless information about them and I love going to the theatre to see them. Obviously there are the favourite ones that you see over and over again, and the ones that steal 3 hours of your life never to be gained back.

This year I'm directing Grease for the school I work in and so myself, and the two other teachers involved took ourselves up to The Big Smoke to see the current West End production. We saw the 5.30pm performace last night and well...my middle schoolers are doing a better job after only 4 rehearsals.

Apparently the cast was new that week, but if that is the case, then I'd be dragging them all back for notes. With fluffed lines, wrong dance moves, mostly dreadful, mumbled american accents which meant that lines were unintelligible it was a disaster.

I've seen 7 or 8 professional productions of Grease, both in the West End and on Tour, but this is by far the worst. Dancers were unsure of the highly simplified routines and dear god, the 'Born To Handjive' number was half the speed it's meant to be! At £32.50 a ticket, I'm seriously debating asking for my money back, but on the plus side...My wee school production is looking better and better by the minute ;)

You love my lady lumps!

OK, I know it's been forever since I last posted, but I do have many good excuses. As you can imagine, going back to the new school term was pretty hectic, and after all the health issues I've had this last 18 months, I wasn't going to jeapardise my progress by doing too much. Halfterm term flew by in a heartbeat and the joys of the christmas production left me without a minute to call my own. Christmas this year was fairly blah, though watching one of my oldest childhood friends tie the knot on New Year's Eve was lovely. Sadly nothing tickled my fancy as worth blogging about...until now.

Now some of you may have noticed that I like to try to use song lyrics as my post titles (yes I'm a pretentious cow) and may be wondering where tonights title is leading. Well let's just say that this weekend I had an epiphany and we can take it from there ;)

I've always known that men are fascinated by breasts, but until this weekend, I'd never really seen how much they were derailed by a good set of boobs. I'm going to call it 'The Corset Effect'.

This weekend, I went down to London with two pals for 'Afternoon Tease' at the Volupte Lounge. The Tease run's from 2pm-5pm and is a traditional afternoon tea, served with a back drop of the burlesque that volupte is renowned for. Having been to the lounge several years ago for an evening meal and show, I knew we were in for a treat.

The girls decided that they wanted to dress up a little for the show and had both decided on elegant black pencil skirts topped with a corset. Me being me, opted for the lovely new Vivien of Holloway day dress that Santa had brought me for christmas, my original 40's coat, and Great Aunt Elsie's handbag. The only thing I was missing, to be the perfect 50's lady who lunches, were white gloves and a hat. Sally had talked me out of the hat before we left ;)

After I'd laced the girls into their corset (cos trust me, you really need a pal for that) we climbed into the car and headed for the train station. Even with a jacket covering their assets, we turned heads as we ran to catch the leaving train. One poor wee teenager almost gave himself whiplash turning to watch the boobies bounce as we hopped through the closing doors.

Arriving at St Pancras, the heads continued to turn, though by now they were followed with the angry mutters of irate wives and girlfriends, warning their men not to stare. Heading down to the underground, we stopped to look at the map and decide what our quickest route would be. Seconds after stopping there, a short, bald, rail worker materialised beside Joand, staring directly down her cleavage, asked where we wanted to go. I could actually see the drool pooling in his mouth as he watched those perfectly shaped globes rise and fall with her suppressed giggles.

None of us could contain our laughter as we head off to catch our tube, and it only got louder as we discovered that Sally's ticket wouldn't go through the machines. Once again a male rail worker appeared at our sides, and in just a few shorts minutes, she'd been buzzed through on the barriers, without even a second glance at her ticket. Or should I say receipt? You see Sally had put her ticket safely in her bag and held onto the receipt by mistake. There was no way it was going to work in any of the machines!

Arriving at Volupte (by way of another pub's toilets so Jo could haul her tights back into place) we immediately made friends with the lovely Mike, who plied us with delicious cocktails until it was time to be seated downstairs. The table was right on the perfornmance floor and once again, breasticles caused chaos during the very first act. Hula boy was hilarious, and even more entertaining when he took one look at Sally's stunning cleavage and dropped all his hoops. We were reliably informed later that it really wasn't part of the act ;)

So why do those milky round lumps of tissue cause such an extreme reaction in guys? Can any of you tell me? To us girlies, they are merely the cause of many problems, heartaches and for those of us that are well endowed, a serious dent in your wallet. Why does underwear cost so much more as your cup size increases? What can I say guys, breast may be best, but boy are they trouble ;)

www.volupte-lounge.co.uk

www.vivienofholloway.com