So we’re three weeks into coronavirus-induced lockdown, and the world hasn’t yet ended.
Well, not for me anyway, but the lack of ready access to fizzy drinks and fridge-based snackage is becoming problematic for The Teens. All they do is sleep and eat (and turn the food into height), so the lack of any structure to the day is irrelevant in Teen World.
What is a constant is the sound of feet padding across the kitchen and the opening of the fridge door. The fridge light casts a glow highlighting their disconsolate features; even I concede that a tiny cube of cheese and a wizened red pepper does not a snack make. No baker am I, yet I was inspired to have another go at making the same cake as my late mum used to make for us when we would come in from school, ravenous. She used to call it her “hardbake” and bequeathed me her recipe but my previous attempts to make it had not been exactly great, shall we say (inedible might be a better term). My latest effort was surprisingly good, but was received with exactly the same response as that of me and my brothers forty-odd years ago – a wrinkling of the Teen nose at such an unexciting offering, immediately followed by mum snapping, “Then you’re not really hungry!”
I note that there isn’t much left two days later!
