I was in Paris the past week and unfortunately couldn’t get around to “les cupcakes de Chloe“. So on arriving home, I couldn’t wait to bake a cupcake to satisfy that lust for a sweet, icing topped helping. Of course mine isn’t even close to Chloe’s, but it is still delicious. I am done now. For quite some time.
While taking the metro to and fro(urgh) I made use of the time, staring at people, thinking and wondering about them. Making up stories about them. Scribbling notes and drawings in my notebook. Who they are, what they do, where they come from, their life stories. How they look. First impressions. Based on what we see and hear and feel.
A recipe from Cupcakes, cookies and macarons by Marabout chef.
- I prefer baking mini cupcakes, since the big ones are too much for one helping. And if you like a second, it still doesn’t make one full cupcake…leaving you with no guilt for this indulgement!
- OR bake different sizes of cupcakes for an interest on the cake platter. In which case you will bake the different sizes at different times..the smaller the cupcake the quicker the baking time.
- The cranberries can be left out.
- Use lemon or lime juice and lemon zest instead of orange juice and zest.
- Add a tablespoon of ricotta or mascarpone in the butter icing sugar
- For lighter cupcakes, omit the butter icing sugar and simply sprinkle the cupcake with some sifted icing sugar.
- Serve with fresh fruits like strawberries and a coulis, or caramelized orange slices and an orange coulis.
First impressions. That instinctive first thought or opinion about something or someone. How many times have you said just after meeting someone…”I like him, he seems nice”, or I don’t think I like her, there is just something about her…” A house, a school, a country, new neighbours, a restaurant… That first impression is something a “con artist” relies on to entrap his victims. It is that “thing” that makes you stare at a person walking into a room with a certain presence…that makes you keep quiet when a deep voice speaks on the other side of the room.
I have had an occasion where the vegetable man at the market asked me whether I’m a historian. On my surprised: “why?”, he pointed at my handbag and the pencil holding my hair up. To him, I had the look and manner of an historian, with my Indiana Jones leather bag and pencil in my hair(which I used to keep my hair from falling into my painting back at home..).
Another time we lived in SC and I used to visit Books a million close by early some mornings to get some drawing and writing done in a corner with a coffee. One day a woman approached me, sat down next to me and started chatting. I’ve seen her often as well as many other regulars, but they never approached me, thinking I was working with all the books and paper around me. It turned out that they all had their impression too…wondering who I was, where I was from, wondering about my foreign accent, my keeping to myself in a corner, my soft-spokennnes, ( I have a voice that just doesn’t carry!) Along with my dark hair and dark complexion, not fogetting the hereditary dark circles under my eyes, they decided I had to be Arabic.
Once I was reading a book in a coffee shop while waiting for Hartman to arrive at the station. At some stage I burst out laughing for some funniness in the book. A while later, a man sitting opposite me started speaking to me, fascinated by my laughing out loud all by myself, and asked me if I was a teacher revising a novel… I read with a pencil in hand, my reading glasses low on my nose and a little notebook on the side.
Hartman, in his university years, somewhat resembled a young Mick Jagger – very tall, very slender, sinewy, with thick long disorderly hair, constantly wearing his favourite thick old army coat, his grandfather’s hat and his guitar slung around his shouders. My mother trusted him nothing!! Today, much older and wearing black woolen coats and hats, Mick Jagger made way for a Francois Mitterrand strictness and formality, leaving some people with a slight apprehension to approach him.
First impressions. Truth…or deception…or a little bit of both…?
Truc et astuces de nos grands-méres:
To make raw onions esier digestable, cut in slices and leave to marinate a week in olive oil.