Delia or Nigella – Special Guest Posting
I'd like to thank Julie for taking the time out to write the following witty & humourous post for everyones' enjoyment.
Delia or Nigella
Mmm where do I fall? Delia or Nigella?
Delia would have all her utensils in a straight line on her work top. Nigella would have hers out too but one important little baby would be loving pulled from a drawer and caressed before putting it into use.
Delia would crack her eggs in her hands without shell falling into the mixture. Nigella would break them seductively on the side of the bowl being careful not to let the egg white slide down the side.
Delia would treat her electric whisk as if it were a cement mixer mixing up muck for bricks waiting to be laid. Nigella would seductively use a hand whisk gently beating the eggs as if she were waiting to be laid.
Delia would put the wooden spoon used to beat the ingredients together, straight into the dishwasher. Nigella would seductively lick the mixture off the spoon and coo in delight and put the spoon back in the drawer.
Delia would with complete ease grease the tins with melted butter and line them with prepared grease proof paper. Nigella would giggle as she watched the butter melt and then give a short commentary on how to dip your brush into the hot liquid and spread it evenly over whatever you liked.
Delia would dollop the prepared mixture evenly into the tins and shove them into a pre-heated oven and know when they would be cooked. Nigella would carefully count how many spoonfuls go into each tin and wipe the spilled mixture trails from the worktop with her finger and make strange noises whilst sucking it. Nigella would remember that it’s best to switch the oven on first and have a glass of chilled wine whilst the oven reaches her desired heat. The cake tins are gently placed onto shelves and a timer set for the number of minutes it usually takes, but of course sometimes it could be quicker as it depends how excited the mixture is.
Delia would roll up her sleeves, grab the paring knife and start on the veg. Nigella would dust down her front stating how pleasant it is to do that to oneself every now and then, fill her glass and sit down and coo.
Delia would instinctively know that the cakes were cooked to golden perfection and take them out using thick oven gloves and allow them to cool on a wire rack before taking them out of the tins. Nigella would wonder what that ringing noise was and have another sip of scrummy yummy wine. Nigella would use a man’s shirt to get the tins from the oven and then attempt to turn them out but abandon the idea saying “You know, as I tell my closest friends, it’s sometimes best to be patient and wait for that right moment”. Nigella would open another bottle of something from the fridge.
Delia would make her butter cream by vigorously beating the ingredients together adding a few measured drops of vanilla essence until the right consistency was achieved. Nigella would take the butter from the fridge and have a few glasses of wine until the butter was at room temperature then proceed to whipping the ingredients into a frenzy covering her face and hair with smatterings of butter and icing sugar whilst giggling and stating how much she loved it when that happens.
Delia would slap on the warmed raspberry jam and butter cream onto the sponge cakes and slap them together and proceed to dust the cake with caster sugar and say “There you have it”. Nigella would use one of her favourite tools to spread the gooey jam over the sponge and lick the palette knife when done. The absolutely fabulous butter cream is spread all over herself and the remains onto the sponge. The cakes are sandwiched together with “Mmmm that feels good”. She then dusts from high with icing sugar as she coyly remembers when she was stranded with one of her closest friends in a log cabin in a snow storm and dribbles over the cake.
Delia places the finished cake into the larder for family tea time. Nigella unable to wait greedily cuts the biggest slice and takes a seductive bite managing to get icing sugar all over her sweet little nose. Nigella would smile and say “I love it when that happens”.
Perhaps I am Nidellia.
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So -- where do YOU fall? Many thanks Julie - how about a birthday cake? ;~) xxx.
