Cue floaty morning music, rays of sunlight coming in through the kitchen window and a warm, fuzzy feeling of domesticity. Picture a romantic (now considered idiotic) idea to bake Chocolate Hot Cross Buns for Easter. Frothy yeasty milk, sifted flour...so far so good. Kneading, more kneading, enough kneading to cause carpel tunnel....still positive but beginning to become a little bored. Some rising in a warm place, more kneading, then add some choccie chips. That morning music starting to become grating on the nerves. Mix up flour, sugar and water paste for the crosses and spoon into a piping bag...o.k. I'm officially over it now! In the oven to bake. Phew, that's done. But alas, there is another step. Glaze with boiling water and gelatine mix to make them all shiny like in the shops. Quick cuppa while they bake and then unveil my masterpieces for all to enjoy....and re-introduce myself as Nigella, domestic goddess!
Scene change...light now seems rather harsh, music is now similar to The Wheel of Fortune's waa waa waa waaaaa when you land on bankrupt. Whether it was too much rising, too little rising, too much kneading, not enough kneading...but my little buns were simply not fit for human consumption. They would however make great weapons for a French trebuchet! Yes, they look lovely all dressed up in a photo but believe me when I tell you that the napkin would be more enjoyable to eat. In his true gorgeous nature all my hubby could say was, "It must have been a bad recipe my love." Bless him!