It might actually do me some good - first, because I need to get used to be a regular at something again, and second, because I am starting to fear that my obsession with diets will rise again if I don't get a job and/or push my life back again on the right track soon. When the angel on the right shoulder says you know, losing some weight sounds so much like a good idea, and the devil on the left replies screw it, if eating makes you happy then it's exactly what you have to do - who does the self-esteem-less food addict listen to?
It's hard, it's always been hard. I guess it always will be. But that's another long and complicated story, and I hope you won't mind if I choose not to tell it.
Anyway, I want to cook, and cook, and cook again. Because it's fun, because it keeps me from thinking about practically anything else (apart from gosh, do I really have to wait for it to cool down before serving?), and because, trust me, nothing makes me more happy than a recipe gone right.
I also want to write, write, and write, and write again - so, what's better than blogging about food? I'll have one more good reason to cook without feeling guilty, and one more good chance to improve my writing.
Done deal, then. Stay tuned, because here comes something I have created myself.
Chocolate Coconut Muffins
(the chocolate sponge was store-bought, alas! But I hope I'll give a try at that as well, soon)
I was inspired by this recipe, which I actually intended to try on that fateful day. It was a Tuesday, if I can remember well - a typical English Summer Tuesday, whose promise of heavy showers of rain had made me give up on my resolution to dress up, get out, go to the library and work on my master thesis.
I was alone at home, and, as it alwas happens when I'm home alone on a rainy day with nothing to do (obviously the thesis doesn't count), I was sad. Sad, and with a couple spare eggs in the fridge. Which was actually the perfect combo, because cooking muffins would surely have made me happy and given a purpose to my boring afternoon.
Unfortunately, there were no pineapples or white chocolate in my cupboard, and at that point I was feeling too lazy to dress up, get out, walk ten minutes to the supermarket and then walk ten minutes back; this is when creativity became the keyword.
As you can see, the ingredients are slightly different comparing to the original:
- 180g plain flour
- 100g sugar
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon salt (which I actually think I forgot, on that occasion - nevermind, that's one good reason to try again!)
-180ml skimmed milk (just because I'm a health freak; if you want to use semi-skimmed or wholemilk, that's perfectly fine)
- 1 egg
- 1 teaspoon Amaretto liquor (again, the only one I had at home)
- 90g milk chocolate chips
- 50g grated coconut.
The recipe per se is quite simple, but I'm proud of the result. You should obtain twelve muffins - and this is why I highly recommend you to set twelve chocolate chips aside before melting all the others. You'll see why...that was actually my own personal touch!
- To prepare the batter, mix the milk, egg and liquor, and then add the flour, baking powder, salt, and sugar.
- Melt the chocolate chips (remember, all of them minus twelve!) in a bowl over simmering water, and add them as well, together with the grated coconut.
- Split the batter evenly into a greased muffin tin. First of all, put only one tablespoon in each muffin case; add one of the spare chocolate chips on top of this "base", and then cover it with another tablespoon of batter.
- Pre-heat the oven to 190°, and cook for about 15 minutes.
The outcome? Extremely moist muffins, with a chocolatey surprise in the middle. I usually fail miserably at first attempts, but this was a pleasant exception to the norm.
Then came the moral dilemma: as usual, the angel on my right shoulder, subtly whispering come on, you're most definitely not going to eat twelve muffins on your own.
I usually exploit my boyfriend for tastings, and he is usually more than happy to accept such a task, but we weren't planning to see much of each other that week, and the muffins had to go before they lost their softness. So, I decided to insert my flatmates into the equation.
It had been a long time since I last had cooked for them, and I also wanted to apologise for the way I had treated them during the past couple of weeks: true, they had been unclean as usual, they had let two bills expire and, on top of it all, they had thrown the loudest party ever, up until four in the morning and making as much noise as possible while I was trying to get some sleep (don't worry, if you want to be on your own and study this evening we won't disturb you!) - but I surely had overreacted to it all, and it wasn't fair to blame them for my being stressed, unsatisfied of my job and unwilling to make any effort to get my thesis done.
Let's prove them I'm still a good person, I told myself, leaving eight muffins in plain sight on the kitchen table. I added a funny note, and hoped that, if they didn't want to appreciate the thought, they still would appreciate the food. Well, guess how many muffins they ate? One. Out of eight.
I left them untouched for two more days, just in case they changed their minds, but nothing happened. So, what does this teach me? Indeed, not everyone deserves to be offered your food.
Or, more broadly: stop trying to be kind to people, they just don't care.
But that's a lesson I'll never learn, I'm afraid.
(On air: Phoenix - Armistice)
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