…is the cake that I have just removed from my oven.
My house is full of the comforting aroma of hot sugary goodness, and I am experiencing a childhood impatience as I make myself leave the cake to cool on a wire rack.
The cake in question is nominally Nigella’s apple and walnut cake (itself a re-version of someone else’s apple cake), but I have reverted to the original recipe’s olive oil (instead of walnut oil), and ignored the instruction to “drain the rum-soaked sultanas”. I didn’t use rum and sultanas, I used particularly fine bourbon and mixed fruits, and you’re mad if you think I’m throwing perfectly good bourbon away. Or rum, if I’d used rum. Why, why, would you let the rum be gone? Tch.
I also added nashi to my apple, so arguably I’ve gone from “apple and walnut cake” to “apple, nashi, walnut and bourbon cake”. From the scents currently circulating, I don’t imagine this is going to be a bone of contention.
Domestic goddess? I think so; multi-tasking a cake bake while sourcing bathroom tiles and finalising a kitchen shopping list has to count for something. And later I shall roast a chicken, just to be sure.
You’ve got to squeeze this domestic deity in while you can; tomorrow I’ll be work fiend again.
Edit: Nom nom nom. Although next time I might believe the sugar level in the recipe, and/or puree the fruit for a generally apple-y flavour (rather than having lots cubes of fruit). Still: nom.