Coffee & Cupcake; Wondermilk

One of my most guilty of guilty pleasures, up there on the list along with my moth-to-a-flame must-keep-watching-the-carwreck fascination with the vapid "reality" television show, Keeping Up With the Kardashians (as well as its spawn-like spin-offs Khloe & Lamar, and Kourtney & Kim Take New York... why do I know the names?! The shame!); uninspired romantic comedies with formulaic plots that I WILL scoff at aloud although my heart is secretly warmed by the notion of True Love occurring between the beautiful people on the TV screen, no matter how recycled that Love is; and eating feta cheese out of the jar, is... reading while eating.

Sounds innocuous enough? Doesn't seem like something I should get my panties in a guilty twist about? Sadly, my parents tried so hard during my childhood and teenagehood to break this habit of mine that now, although I am a grown twenty-something-year-old adult, I still feel guilty when I read while I eat. (Please note that although I am now an adult, I am, of course, still entitled to blame my idiosyncrasies on my parents. They fuck you up, your mum and dad... although I take artistic liberty here; I'm not really fucked up: I just like Philip Larkin and I have weird relationships with books and fizzy drinks because of my parents' food rules.)

My parents would plead and scold and beg (in vain, all in vain) for me to just STOP. READING. AT THE. DINNER TABLE. Antisocial, who cares; unfortunate side-effects Remnants Of Food In Books and Condensation From Drinking Glasses On Back Cover, bring it on. I was a really mature, obedient little first child (as in, I didn't even have an angst-y I-hate-my-parents phase kind of obedient), and reading at the dinner table was probably my only form of rebellion.

And now that I'm an adult... I can eat-and-read whenever I want! I also have some truly historic food stains in most of my favourite books from my childhood, but that is neither here nor there. Goosey is never appalled at my antisocial behaviour, mostly because he loves me and love means never pointing out that your partner has flecks of chicken in their Terry Pratchett, but also partly because he has an iPad, which is sort of like a book, only much more expensive and with better graphics, and which he plays with when I'm too busy reading and eating to talk to him.

I forgot what the point of this post was. I think I wanted to say that I had brunch at Wondermilk yesterday while reading The Marriage Plot and the combination of food, coffee, a big fat novel, and it being Sunday afternoon was almost too delicious to bear. DELICIOUS.

Strawberry Cheesecake Cupcake; Bisou

Why do good things come to an end? Why?!

Eating during the day: good thing, coming to an (albeit temporary) end with the coming of Ramadan (which will merit a wholeeee other post, because if you think I can ramble with no point or meaning in sight when I ramble about food, I assure you, I can ramble more when there is a severe lack of food. And brunch! No more brunch! I don't always wake up in time to have breakfast... or brunch, really, but the OPTION to have it: THAT is priceless. And come Monday: no more!).

Grey's Anatomy: good thing, rumoured to be coming to an end with its upcoming eighth season. If I'm going to be honest, I'd have to admit that Grey's jumped the shark around the time that Katherine Heigl was boinking the ghost of her dead but still very yummy ex-husband, but I'd rather be dramatic and mourn its tragic end. No more Cristina Yang! No more Lexie Grey! No more McSteamy!

Amy Winehouse: good singer, now passed. I have been secretly fascinated with Amy Winehouse since I first saw her: that eyeliner! Those tattoos! Those ballet slippers! And that really sexy voice. Such a sad ending.

And (I feel a little awkward segueing from a celebrity passing to a topic that's just a tiny bit more frivolous but it has to be done) Bisou's Cupcake of the Month for July: strawberry cheesecake cupcakes, my new favourite cupcakes in the world ever, coming to an end in August (duh). Why do you have to discontinue your Cupcake of the Month of July 2011, Bisou, why?! And since I'm asking rhetorical questions, why is it called strawberry cheesecake, when it's not really cheesecake?

I love everything in it. The generous dollops of strawberry, the generous swirls of cream cheese (one mustn't be stingy with strawberry dollops and cream cheese swirls, this is like the golden rule of desserts); the Digestive biscuit sprinkles, the fact that it's sweet in the middle (because of the strawberry) but rich on top (because of the cream cheese) but still light overall (because of the vanilla batter), why, why Bisou must you tease me with such perfection and then take it away just because it's no longer July? What is a month anyway, but an arbitrary collection of dates? (Wait, what? Lunar phase what? I'm ignoring you.)


So bring it on, August. A month that will lack coffee, brunches, and the inexplicably-named but magical strawberry cheesecake cupcake. I am inconsolable. In fact possibly the only thing that can console me is the onslaught of pasar ramadhans. And batik cake, if I can find it at said pasar ramadhans. And buka puasa buffets? Also the chocolate cake at the Taman Tun pasar ramadhan. I'm still inconsolable though. Really.

Cupcakes; Cupcake Chic

It is a scientifically proven fact (alas, I do not have the link to the scientific study that proves this fact; but this is not because it does not exist and I just made that fact up to start my post on a witty but regrettably completely fictional truth, it's because I'm too lazy to search for it) that eating cupcakes will increase the dopamine levels in your brain by 75%, thus making you 65% happier. (The remaining 10% of the happiness levels were lost during dopamine transmission because I belatedly realized that eating cupcakes would only further inflate my already recently inflated ass. This is a true fact. The junk is accumulating in my trunk. My lovely lady lumps, posterior, are... umm... getting lumpier? On the plus side my ass sounds like a flotation device when I describe it and also feels cushiony and is quite pleasant to sleep and sit on.)



My beloved Rum & Raisin cupcakes (3)
Naughty & Nice cupcakes (vanilla cake, chocolate frosting) (2)
... and a Fortune cupcake (vanilla cake, orange & chocolate frosting) (1)



If you're wondering what a vanilla cake with a slice of orange on the bottom and chocolatey orangey frosting tastes like, the answer is: crap. The Naughty & Nice was good (solid grades, but no valedictorian award) but the Rum & Raisins were, as always, perfection, and were TOTALLY worth their significant contribution to ass size.

Cupcakes; Work

I am totally insanely swamped with work. Even though things are apparently slowing down. In fact to celebrate (or commiserate) the slowing down of work people have been bringing cakes to the office and just handing them out, out of the goodness of their hearts.

They are not really very tasty though. Or at least this one wasn't. It was like eating pure butter, deceptively made up in pink and cream hues to attract the unsuspecting eater in spite of its complete lack of taste. Like a cakey Venus Flytrap! And I'm the fly! Except... I ate the cake and the cake didn't eat me so... wait... my seemingly ingenious metaphor just fell flat on its flowery face. On its deceptively PRETTY flowery face.

Full marks for style, little cupcake, but zero for substance and taste. Also full marks for the evil genius category. You are the most conniving cake I have ever eaten, as you managed to get me to eat ALL of you just because you were so attractive and despite the fact that you tasted nasty. For that I must give you due recognition.

Edit - Holy crap I just realized that I am an evil cupcake! I too am a small pink wily evil genius! Thought to be continued later. Or perhaps just abandoned, since I just ranted about a conniving cake that I now find is the gastronomic embodiment of who I am.

Hello Twenty Four

Once upon a time twenty four years ago today at two in the afternoon (the parental unit from which the subject of the story emerged reminds said subject every year without fail of the time that she came into the world) a baby girl was born.


She would grow up too petite, too bossy, too clumsy, too verbose and too happy, with a predilection for cupcakes and pyromaniacal fascination with candles, especially birthday candles. The end.

Dark Chocolate Cheesecake; Palate Palette

Good things come in small packages:

Vanilla bean cheesecake and dark chocolate topping


Wondermilk cupcakes (portions of a Generous Stranger Birthday Boy's birthday cupcakecake: he wanted to share the love, and no one says no to birthday cake and spreading of love, so we obliged. Happy birthday and gratitude to YOU, stranger boy!)


Other good things that also come in small packages:
Tiffany blue boxes
Breathmints
Espresso shots
Lollipops
Babies

The fervour with which I believe in this adage may have something to do with the fact that I am five foot nothing. MAYBE. Just saying.

Cuppacakes; Wondermilk

I am all of a sudden sick sick sick and I hate it. I can even pinpoint the early symptoms and when they began, though how they became a full blown fever and cold in such a short period of time is beyond me. Apparently there's a flu bug going around at work, and (appropriately enough) work germs are hyper-productive and efficient.

First I started just sneezing uncontrollably; an hour later I started to become ridiculously hey-everyone-see-the-liquid-steadily-drip-out-of-my-nose sniffly; and an hour after that my throat started to join the discomfort party, only to convince the other partygoers to transform said party into a full out pain carnival.

So now I am bed-ridden and disgusting and ingesting this extremely untasty drug cocktail twice a day.

And the definitive kicker and ultimate confirmation that I really am sick (other than the tell-tale green phlegm): I can't even eat my cupcakes. Noooo! Everything tastes like cardboard and I can't smell anything. Stupid flu. You can take away my sense of taste and smell but you will never take away my eyes (umm now that I've said that and tempted fate please do not blind me seeing as--see what I did there?!--I'm practically legally blind anyway) and I can still look at them. And they are so pretty. Thank you goosey! I'm sure they taste delicious to someone who can actually taste. As much as I hate being sick, having cakes brought to my door almost makes up for it.

I Heart Halloween (& Cupcake Pops)

Up until about two hours ago I was completely unaware of this thing called cupcake pops. How?! Why?! This is completely unacceptable and a tragedy of a magnitude equal to that of Arsenal losing a Champions League match (ahem or should I say THEORETICAL Arsenal defeat... cause we won 5-2 last night BOOYA yes I just wanted to mention that somehow).

But really, combining cupcakes and lollipops? Which happen to be two of my favourite things in the world (granted, I have a long list of favourite things... but it's because I happen to be easily pleased, not because I'm liberal with my favourite-things label)?! GENIUS. Ms. Bakerella, you are a modern day hero, and officially my new favourite blogger.

Some of her Halloween ingenuity:

My favourite is the Bad Ass Pumpkin third from left... though Anime Pumpkin on the far right is also a looker

Distressed and dismayed Caspers

Superfluous confessions time: masks scare me shitless. Regardless of who wears them. So while these mask cakepops are the cats pyjamas... I wouldn't eat this last batch. They creep me out.

I Heart (iPhone) Cupcakes

THE DEFINITION OF CUTE:

I miss Hermes the iPhone. How come no one's ever come up with a cake inspired by the BlackBerry? Severe marketing flaw, guys. You're losing out to the iPhone in the cutestakes.


From daniellebilton.com

Cupcakes; Crumbs, New York

You know that stereotype that Americans are all about size, gluttony and greed? The soaring obesity rates, the super-size-me culture, the fascination with all things fast food, the ginormous meal portions compared to... oh, just about anywhere else in the world; and on a less literal scale, the over-inflated masculine egos and correspondingly hyper-sexualized expectations for females, the insatiable appetite for fuel (though Bush has the gall to suggest that emerging markets cut down on their fuel consumption to curb rising crude oil prices, it is in fact the US that eats up more than a quarter of the world's energy consumption each year. This isn't fast food... we're talking about a NON-RENEWABLE resource), the Darwinist capitalist mentality that drives Wall St. and arguably (obviously I'm arguing the case for, if you care to speak for the other side, please contact me and we will have words) caused the summer-07 subprime meltdown and subsequent and current worldwide economic recession through which we have the misfortune to live today?

I found the culinary embodiment of this stereotype, ironically enough, in mini-mini-cupcakes. Yes people, this delicious selection of cupcakes may look like regular cupcakes, but they are, in fact, not even mini-cupcakes, but MINI-MINI-CUPCAKES. Which means that the regular cupcakes were about half the size of my face, and the mini-cupcakes were the size of my cheek. And one of these "tiny" little guys filled up my whole mouth (wait, what, it's more polite not to stuff one's face and instead take small bites?!). And I have a BIG mouth.


Oh America, land of the free and of the giant cupcakes. Everything that is associated with you is apparently larger than life, right down to cupcakes, which, by definition, are supposed to be small. Yet although I may point out your flaws, the truth is I don't care about your negative stereotypes. Because although I cannot even finish one of your regular cupcakes in one sitting and thus had to opt for the selection of mini-mini-cakes, I love that that super-large size option is even available (choice = freedom and freedom = THE ideal). For America, I too am a secretly greedy fast-food-loving capitalist (okay I know I have a blog that is all about food but my point is that it is a secret to everyone who DOESN'T read this blog) who prizes choice and freedom in the give-me-liberty-and-giant-cupcakes-or-give-me-death political vein.

The point of this post was to highlight that there is such a thing as mini-mini-cupcakes. In retrospect, the more relevant point and moral of this post seems to be that I will forgive anyone almost any fault if I am fed cupcakes.

Samir Nasri is a Vanilla Cupcake

The resemblance is uncanny.

Am tempted to start a series of posts detailing how certain footballers look like certain desserts (in keeping with the festive Euro 2008 mood), but before I commit to such a worthwhile and meaningful endeavour I need to assess just how much time I have to fritter away checking out photos of footballers and desserts.

Naughty & Nice; Cupcake Chic

Rum & Raisin; Cupcake Chic

Strawberry Cheesecake Cupcake; The Loaf

Chocolate Cupcakes; Threadszoo

Teddy Bear Butter Cupcakes; Delicious