There is a considerable amount of time in any average week that we spend talking about food. My desk neighbour (on my right) will always ask what I'm having for lunch and will often announce what she has planned for dinner, the ingredients, herbs and spices she will be using and how much she is going to enjoy it. My supervisor (my left desk neighbour) is half Italian and a high-end foodie. You can mention any dish that you like and he'll have a suggestion to make it better or a decadent version you should try. We joke that our conversations border on food porn, much like the Marks & Spencer food adverts.
My only objection to our discussions is the frequent inclusion of calorie counts - "Starbucks' blueberry cheesecake contains over 500 calories? Oh really, is that a lot? What do you mean, that's equivalent to a whole meal and a quarter of a woman's total daily recommended calorie intake??" Talk about killing my high...
Anyway, my supe has definitely picked up some skills in the cooking department from his mother. I can attest to this first hand, as within my first month of working with him, I'd been treated to apple and sultana cake (sprinkled with a crunchy topping of demerera sugar), Boston brownies (full-on chocolate fudge, described by a colleague as an ' instant heart attack' due to the amount of butter they contained, but oh my, they were goooood) and peanut butter cookies with white chocolate chunks (only slightly chewy and not too sweet - yum).
Today it was his birthday. Being such a foodie, my colleagues teased him that we were expecting him to bring in cake of some description today. "I don't have any ingredients at home," he said somewhat apologetically and much to my amusement, before realising how unreasonable the demand was. "Hang on, I can't believe I'm apologising for not being able to make cakes for my own birthday!" he said, while I smirked at the fact that were it not for his kitchen being unstocked, his enjoyment of cooking would probably have motivated him enough to do it. Amidst the teasing, my colleagues and I got our heads together last week and decided you can't get a foodie of his calibre anything less than some cracking culinary treats. Our boss picked out a fancy bottle of port (apparently he's a fan, so is she). In addition we were going to get him some special chocolate, recently featured on TV, called Venezuelan Black. It's made from 100% cacao and is meant to be used in cooking (he's previously mentioned how grated chocolate gives beef chilli an extra rich flavour). Boss lady went to Waitrose (of course) to find it. After no joy, I offered to go to Selfridges, where the chocolate had been launched and stocked since.
The food hall in Selfridges is actually relatively small compared to other large London department stores (hello, Harrods). But I'd never been in there before and discovered all manner of exciting treats (they have American goods, like Fluff! My Boy has told me all about this. I relayed this discovery to him and he shared my excitement). I wandered up and down, checked out the home baking aisle, walked past attractive displays of limited edition champagne-flavoured Marmite and tins of traditional English tea and finally ambled around the confectionary section, which offered several brands of fancy chocolate in various flavours, but no Venezuelan Black.
In my stubborness I continued to look for another 5 or 10 minutes before finally relenting and asking an assistant for help. I mentioned I was looking for some chocolate that had featured on TV and he immediately knew what I meant. "We've run out," he apologised, "the first batch he made has sold out, so we are waiting for more stock." Disappointed, I thanked him for his help and then reverted to plan B. But I didn't have a plan B. So I wandered round a bit more looking for suitable treats to buy instead. There was a bakery section nearby and my eyes fell on the lovely display of cupcakes.
Aren't they gorgeous? Pretty colours! That definitely swayed me. I'm such a girl. There were boxes filled with 4 cupcakes each, so I grabbed 2 boxes, paid (£13.98 total, cheap they ain't) and took my now-tired arse home.
We left the boxes, bottle of port and a card on his desk this morning. I think he was pleasantly surrpised by the gesture. I assured him that he was under no pressure to share the cupcakes (while secretly dying to try one) and was rewarded with a banana cake topped with pastel green buttercream icing and tiny white icing stars. It was a scrumptious accompaniment to my mid-morning cuppa. My colleague had a carrot one, with yellow icing and sprinkles. Supervisor was very restrained and waited nearly all day, stopping for tea at 3pm and tucking into a pink-iced vanilla cupcake, shaming Colleague and me by delicately cutting his in half, where we had just stuffed our faces in an unladylike manner.
We then discovered that Lola's Kitchen, maker and purveyor of these delicious wonders of baked, icing-topped goodness has a website. We spent some considerable time ogling the pictures and salivating over the descriptions of the various flavours available (rocky road, anyone?). Colleague spoilt it a little by pondering the calorie count per cupcake. "Who cares?" I wondered, "They're not going to be nutritionally beneficial, let's face it." My feeling is, if I want a cake, I'll eat a cake. And I won't ruin the experience with food guilt by agonising over the calories it contains. Good gracious, life's too short. If I'm that bothered, I just won't have one. It's not complicated, is it? A scan of the packaging revealed no indication of any nutritional advice, other than the ingredients list. There was no calorie count, no recommended daily amounts of fat or sugar. "I like you, Lola's Kitchen," I thought. "I'm feeling your style."
Colleague announces she is going to try and find this information on the website. I am strangely impressed and a little concerned by her determination. I'm not sure if she really wants to know or if she simply wants the information to taunt my supervisor. I'm thinking this could be a little naughty on a normal day, but on his birthday, it's borderline cruel. We make estimations on what we think it might be. I play the game and concur with their suggestions. A while later, still unable to find an answer to her question, Colleague reveals that she has emailed Lola's Kitchen for the information. My amusement is quickly turning to dismay. This level of determination is enough to kill any sugar high. Lola's Kitchen sends an email reply impressively quickly. They don't have an exact figure and anyway, it depends on the variety. (Still feeling their style.) They give us an approximation. It turns out to pretty much what we had guessed and not horrendously high. At least it doesn't put off Supervisor, who has finished his cake and is still browsing the website. We discover they make cheesecake, for which we have a shared love. We pause to stare at the picture, making "mmm" sounds in unison. I cheekily remind them that it's a month to my birthday. I hope I get some similar treats. But if I do, there will be no mention of how much fat they contain/how much exercise I'll need to do to burn it off/how many minutes of my life I will lose from eating them. I mean, 'treats' are meant to be just that, aren't they? A treat!
Superfluous food porn pictures alert! Just a couple for the road:
(I can't believe I wrote that whole long-arse blog on cupcakes! Food porn indeed...)
2 comments:
So I don't do cupcakes. Gimme a real cake, damnit...
But these look *really* good!
We'll have to take a trip to the Self when I next pass by. :)
Indeed. It's a date. :o)
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