By 6:15pm the kids were in bed and quietly waiting for the sleep bus. Trudi is out at the gym. The house is fairly tidy, I've cleaned up the kitchen, and I want dessert. Problem: the fridge and pantry are full of buckwheat and broccoli, cream cheese and dried shiitake. Nothing decadent and nothing sweet.
I have a recipe for a chocolate pudding in a mug, to be made in a microwave, but I don't really feel like a doughy choc pudding. Tonight I feel like a light buttery cake in a big bowl of custard. Heaven.
This is the bit where I was an amazing housewife. I looked at the recipe for chocolate pudding and I tweaked a few things. I replaced oil with melted butter, I reduced the sugar, I skipped the cocoa and added vanilla, and I popped in some frozen raspberries. Into the microwave for a minute and a half. While that was nuking, I made custard sauce with an egg, milk and sugar.
In under ten minutes I was sitting on the couch eating a lovely dessert in a massive bowl while reading.
The bit that's making me feel particularly great is that I messed with a dessert recipe. I've never been confident about making sweets - I have to follow the recipe to the letter. 3.5 years of making muffins and anzacs has clearly given me enough practice to try.
I will never be a cook like Chloe (my friend whose mum would cook slices and cakes in massive tins for the shearers) or Liss (my sister who makes amazing cakes that look devilishly rakish and taste divine). But tonight I made a microwave pudding in a mug and thought I was awesome.
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