I’ve always thought I should make my own plum pudding but I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that it calls for suet. I love suet. It is my version of Proust’s madeleine–not as classy, I know, but just as evocative a memory, recalling my mom’s Sunday roast beef dinner cooked with a healthy slab of suet on top that kept the meat moist and added a rich flavor of its own. I just couldn’t see it playing any part in a cake.
I wasn’t thinking YEAH! LET’S DO IT!! But he sounded so excited. My child still wants to be with his mom, thinks she’s cool. CRAP.
If you have spent any time with my writing, you know I’m nothing if not lazy and low-rent. So you will not find recipes, absolutely no decorating/centerpiece instructions here.
I’m incredible with savory recipes and a disastrous dunce with sweets, particularly anything baked. This is the reason why it took me about a year and a half to attempt to bake my mom’s 1 2 3 4 cake.
I’m telling you this because it puts in perspectives how I felt last week when I read this tweet from Geraldo Rivera:
You’re not alone! There is no way a sane person doesn’t feel like they need something to numb their frayed nerves.
The women would point out there’s a world going to hell in a hand basket right outside my door and I have no significant troubles to contrast them to.