Songs for Songs' Sake Part 3

Here's the link to my latest podcast. Enjoy!

Cherry and the Cakemakers

The other week, for the first time: I made cupcakes.

A few months ago, I finally moved to an appartment with its very own oven, something I guess that many people take for granted. For me, however, this opened up endless possibilities of homemade goodies that have already added more than a couple of centimetres to my waistline: pizzas, pies, Sunday roasts, baked potatoes....the list goes on.

I don't consider myself much of a whizz in the kitchen; I can whip up a half decent curry and people have been known to say I make the best Pot Noodle in town, but I am definitely more greedy than gourmet. I'm clumsy and awkward in pretty much every walk of life, so the kitchen is not the ideal environment for me. What I lack in common sense, I more than make up for in enthusisam, which over the years, has led to several cut fingers, burnt saucepans and one ghastly Bread and Butter Pudding baked with the cling film left on top.

One activity I have rarely attempted is baking. Any inclination has been thwarted by memories of dreaded high school Home Economics classes with evil Mrs Green's voice echoing, "Whose are these poor things?", as she points derisively at my unappetising tin of scones, causing much mirth amongst my classmates. Mrs Green (shudder) was far from encouraging and HE was abandoned in favour of Music, leaving me with nulle points in basic life skills, but the ability to play The Entertainer on anything with a reed.

Getting to grips with my new toy oven, the past few weeks have seen me face my demons and overcome my crisis in confidence, discovering a new passion and - dare I say it - aptitude, for making cakes. I've perfected a Lemon Drizzle Cake that melts in your mouth, done my Mum proud by mastering her much coveted scone recipe and even thrown together some rather impressive birthday cakes for friends and colleagues. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Mrs Green. It was definitely time to get a little more adventurous and the word on the street was cupcakes are where it's at.

When it comes to cupcakes, the authority on all things sugar and spice, is my cousin Emma. Her talent and creativity is remarkable and the rest of us can only stand by and hope we get to lick the bowl. Emma made her own wedding cake, which consisted of several tiers of beautiful individual cupcakes, and she has a weekly commission for the highly reputed Liverpool-based Dafna's Cheesecake Factory. When Emma decided to start up her own small business, my side of the family were only too happy to contribute ideas for a company name, the most ingenuous being 'Cherry and the Cakemakers' (you see she's based in Liverpool!) Liverpudlians are pretty inventive when it comes to naming things: Matthew Street's favourite tribute band Crowded Scouse, driving school El Paso, hairdressing salon Curl-Up and Dye....

Emma's fabulous wedding cake.
 I seem to have misplaced the photo of my baking attempts...

Back to the point, Emma's little business Cupcake Indulgence is thriving and she was only too happy to encourage me in my culinary endeavours, buying me a beautiful Hummingbird Bakery cook book for my birthday. The recipe that caught my eye was for the rather tasty sounding Earl Grey Cupcakes. Mmmmm. I planned to make a basketful for my friend Laurence's birthday and even spent a small fortune on some of those tiny edible silver balls that look so decorative. But not all things go to plan and, although the cakes themselves were nothing short of scrummy, I made a bit of a pig's ear of the frosting. It's a delicate, fiddly process to ice individual cakes and, as usual, I went in feet first and smeared on the sugary mixture as if applying cement to a driveway. There seemed little point in adding the decorations, but I went ahead anyway and managed to create yet another thing that looks like it's been done by a two-year-old. The cakes were devoured by myself and my husband and Laurence received a basketful of scones, that even I can't ruin. I spoke to Emma last night and she wisely advised me to use a piping bag and nozzle for any future attempts and promised to forward a Youtube link more than likely called 'Icing Cupcakes for Dummies'.

Would I try it again?: Mmmmm. I like it. I like it.

Earl Grey Tea Cupcakes

Ingredients:

For the cakes:

3 earl grey tea bags

(I will use more next time as the flavour was a little subtle)

3 tbsp hot water (just boiled)

80g butter

280g caster sugar

240g plain flour

1 tbsp baking powder

1/4tsp salt

200ml milk

2 large eggs

For the icing:

50ml milk

500g icing sugar

160g butter

Method:

1. Put the teabags in the hot water and infuse for 30mins.
2. Preheat oven to 190′C and line the muffin tin with liners.
3. In a mixer, mix together butter, sugar, flour, baking powder and salt until it resembles fine breadcrumbs.
4. In a jug, whisk together the milk and eggs, then pour in the infused tea, squeezing out every drop of liquid from the teabags. Save the teabags for the icing.
5. Pour 3 quarters of the milk mixture into the dry ingredients, mix slowly to combine first, then increase speed to mix till the batter is smooth. Pour in the rest of the milk mixture and mix until smooth and lump free.
6. Fill the muffin liners no more than 2/3 full, bake for 18 – 22 minutes, until well risen and golden. When cooked, cool on a cool rack entirely.
7. To make the icing, put the used teabags in the 50ml milk and leave to infuse for 30mins.
8. Mix together the butter and the icing sugar, now mix very slowly at first as it will go everywhere… if using mixer, remember to cover it with a tea towel first. Then mix in the tea flavoured milk until fluffy.
9. Ice the cooled cakes and decorate! Enjoy x



When Ze Boat Comes In

The other week, for the first time ever: I drove a speed boat.

I'm running a little behind with my blog posts, but everyone has to have a holiday now and again, n'est-ce pas? This year's vacation for me was a wonderfully relaxing week spent on the shores of the jaw-droppingly stunning Alpine Lake Annecy with eight lovely friends. Sound idyllic?  Well it pretty much was, with one factor throwing a spanner in the works: RAIN. I'll spare you a boring paragraph where I pontificate about the disappointing climate of recent years and come over all dewy-eyed at the mere mention of the Summer of '76. The fact is, we were on holiday, it rained every day, we dealt with it. We were still on holiday after all, and, when in France in the rain, there is still wine to be quaffed, cheese to be gorged upon and bowling alleys to visit.....(yes, seriously).

I, for one, was not about to let the odd downpour of torrential rain get in the way of my enjoyment of "Europe's cleanest lake" and between all nine of us, we managed to get more than our money's worth; from early morning dips and taxi boat sightseeing to inebriated skinny dipping at 5 am.

On our final day, whilst we were humming and ahhing about how to maximise our enjoyment of the little bit of sunshine that had come our way, I received a call from fellow holidaymaker Roy: "I've hired a speed boat for three hours. I'm parked at our private beach. Bring sun cream and a snorkel". Music to my ears. I was on board before you could say Hello Sailor.

I've been on speed boats before but usually manned by some self-important jobsworth who takes great pleasure in chastising passengers for trailing their hands and feet in the water. This was our very own boat: Roy was the captain, we could go wherever we wanted and we had beer! And if we wanted more beer we could go ashore and damn well get some.

Having a boat to yourself opens up all kinds of possibilities of exploration. For fear of getting stranded, we didn't quite get close enough to the Roc de Chère to catch sight of any of the 560 species that warrant its status as a protected nature reserve. However, we did reach some of the parts that other boats can't reach and, on occasion, drifted close to some rather handsome properties that are not part of the taxi boat itinerary and served as a gentle reminder of how the other half live. By far the highlight of our little excursion was being able to stop in the middle of the lake and dive into the deepest, coolest part of the crystal clear emerald waters. Despite its "Europe's cleanest lake"' boasts, little marine life was visible when I donned snorkle and mask, but closer to the lake's edge, more professional-looking divers seemed to be reaping some reward.

The only shadow that was cast over proceedings was when we went ashore for more provisions and had the audacity to climb out of our little vessel onto our neighbour's jetty, giving us easy access to our lakeside garden, rather than having to wade. Our neighbour watched on disgusted, hands on hips and wagged his disapproving finger at the trespasssing scum of the earth that we were. It beggars belief that somebody who has the good fortune to spend their retirement years in this little slice of heaven can be so downright miserable and uncharitable.

Roy and Bri took it in turns to steer the boat and the looks on their faces betrayed the fact that, for that moment in time, they were making chase in From Russia With Love. Unfortunately the cans of beer bearing a Jamiroquai silhouette were no compensation for the absence of Martinis. When I took to the wheel, my lack of driving experience was only too apparent and the one-legged duck effect set in. A few circles later, I had almost got the hang of it but decided to leave it to the boys, preferring to sit on the helm, arms in the air, feet trailing in the water, pretending to be King of the World.

Would I try it again?: Next time, I'll make the cocktails.

Re: Just What I've Always Wanted

As requested, a photo of the offending article. If I ever wear it again, I will get a close-up.

Looney Tunes

The other week, for the first time ever: I saw Philippe Katerine.

After a seemingly disappointing bill for the Ardentes music festival  this year, I still took some advantage of the perk of having a free four-day pass and managed to catch some suprisingly entertaining shows. Although Wu Tang Clan didn't live up to expectations, Limp Bizkit kicked some proverbial ass on the Friday night, but I was still left feeling a little cheated, as a younger generation than mine reaped the rewards of a 90s retro line-up (I was several years the wrong side of 30).


Sunday afternoon was definitely more my cup of tea. Agnes Obel's dulcet tones rang hauntingly through the venue accompanied by her ethereal piano chords, but not quite evoking the jovial festival atmosphere I had in mind. The unexpected highlight of the afternoon was Congolese street band Staff Benda Bilili whose funky breakbeats were received better than anything I have ever seen at the Ardentes (who would've thought that Belgians can do the conga?)


A few beers later, accompanied by some old friends, I managed to squeeze my way to just a few yards from the foot of the stage to await what promised to be the show to end all shows: Philippe Katerine - French singer/songwriter famous for his eccentricities. Following his 3 musicians, the man himself made a grand entrance wearing a flamboyant dressing gown and with four young female dancers in tow. The gown was soon discarded to reveal a rather splendidly feminine flowered strappy jump suit, a stark contrast to the grizzly man underneath.


Katerine was every bit the eccentric that I had been led to believe. Every track bore witness to his dadaist sense of humour; from the nonsensical "Bla Bla Bla", to the intentionally naff "La Banane". The fact that he is no Sinatra is of little relevance when he can ingenously create a melody and build a track around something as banal as the sound that accompanies the ever-too-familiar warning, "Windows Explorer has done an illegal operation and has to shut down".

The dancing girls were a joy to watch; choreographed to the hilt and cute in their brightly coloured football kits and  knee-high socks.The audience whooped with delight when Katerine threw in the odd Liege colloquialism, mockingly chanting the word "oufti" which is the expletive of choice for my Liege compatriots. Bananas were thrown on stage, as is apparently the tradition at a Katerine gig, and there were regular cries of request for our hirsute friend to strip off and get naked.


For a moment, I thought he was only too happy to oblige - teasingly sliding down the odd strap, popping a button or provocatively lowering his waistband to groin level.  Despite his far from buff physique and ludicrous attire, Katerine still exuded an inkling of sexual energy through his confidence and sheer audacity, even when he stood in front of the crowd in nothing but a pair of unflatteringly stretchy mock denim undercrackers.

Entertaining as all this was, I am uncertain whether it

would translate well to an Anglophone culture.

The show’s air of the bizarre and slapstick adds up

to the kind of humour that is quintessentially français. Ooh là là.

Check out Katerine's website and help him catch those bananas.

Would I try it again?: Oufti.......oui!

Just What I've Always Wanted

Last week, for the first time ever: I wore a Bumpit.
I am a sucker for novelty items and the first person to be drawn in by a new product claiming to be the answer to all health and beauty dilemmas. Only very recently I spent a ridiculous 8 Euros on a miracle cold sore cure which has now left me with a huge branflake in the corner of my mouth.

On a recent trip to my hometown of St Helens, my Mum caught me in the act of falling hook line and sinker for a video in Boots the Chemist promoting a revolutionary big hair product: the Bumpit. Before I squandered the £3.99 that was already half way into the hands of the cashier, my shrewd Mother informed me that the same item could be acquired from Poundland for, you guessed it, a cinch at just a quid.

Since my teenage years, I have not been very experimental with my hair. Maybe I have been scarred for life by the hideous orange spiky mushroom 'do that I had at the tender age of 14, leading me to abscond from school after enduring the
contemptuous shrieks of my fellow schoolies. I think I have also fallen into the trap of playing it safe; my hair doesn't look good long and it doesn't suit me short, so chin-length it is, with the occasional dramatic angle that keeps me from being too boring. However, in the back of my mind, I was born in the wrong era and I hanker after the days when women
painstainkingly teased their hair into fabulous beehives. I guess I have never been the same since I first saw the retro chic of Mari Wilson on Top of the Pops and will never fail to admire and envy the Bardot bouffant. On the occasion of my brother's wedding, I went the whole hog and spent the morning with my Mum's hairdresser as he coaxed my locks up into a beehive which has gone down in history at that particular establishment as being "fuckin' massive". The whole thing didn't budge for a matter of days and the CEO of Insette has now retired to the Bahamas from the proceeds of that appointment alone.

The Bumpit is a banana-shaped plastic article with teeth around the edges. The idea is to grab a section of hair, push it up with the Bumpit and then smooth it down over the top, spraying into place. Amazingly, with just a few trial runs, I managed to achieve the desired effect and it was eat your heart out Amy Winehouse. Surprisingly, the Bumpit manages to stay relatively secure and the style sleek. The amount of hairspray applied is key ("fuckin' massive") as is your planned evening activities: a night moshing on the dancefloor will have you rooting down the back of your frock for the Bumpit and would-be djettes should note that headphones are not the best accompaniment.

Mari Wilson: 80s retro icon and beekeeper...

....Massive.

Would I try it again?: Well I guess I need to get my money's worth from that quid... 

His Name is Rio

Last week, for the first time ever: I went to the Rio de Janeiro Carnival.

Well ok, not quite...but probably as close as I'll ever get.

How does a Belgian guy from the humble background of Herve end up being the centre of attention on a float at the world's biggest carnival?

The answer is simple: passion.

This is what I discovered last Sunday when I visited Alain Taillard's exhibition, and, for the first time ever, feasted my eyes on a variety of costumes that have been an integral part of the Rio Carnival during the last decade.

After pouring me a healthy glass of wine, Alain proceeded to tell me about his all-consuming hobby that takes him to the other side of the world every year along with partner Bernard who is only too happy to be his accompanying photographer.

Since the mere age of six years old, Alain has taken part in the carnival at his Belgian hometown, Herve, and over the years, his growing fascination has taken him to Nice, Venice and finally the biggest carnival of all, Rio de Janeiro. Most of us can only dream about the once in a lifetime possibility of visiting Rio; Alain has been to the Rio carnival every single year since 1992 and his dreams came true when he was invited to mount a podium on one of the samba school floats. Since then he has climbed the ranks and earned himself more and more prestigious roles each year and is now officially listed as a destaque, or floatee, with the Mangueira samba school.

Before speaking to Alain and seeing the exhibition, I had little idea of the effort, love and attention that goes into crafting each of these costumes over a period of 6 months. It is purely an indulgent, artistic pursuit: each costume is only used once and for just over an hour during the festivities. Only a true afficionado would be prepared to don this heavy, beaded intricate attire and sweat half their body weight in temperatures that sore above 30 degrees.

The detail and magnitude of each costume astounded me. Having tried my hand at fancy dress over the years, I can safely say that what I witnessed in the Ancienne Halle aux Viande in Liege that Sunday afternoon puts my last minute attempts at cobbling together a Marge Simpson costume to shame. Some of the costumes were even incomplete, missing a few tons of peacock feathers; far too expensive to risk damage in transit and thus, left behind in Rio.

Alain and Bernard fund their annual escapades by hosting similar exhibitions throughout Belgium, definitely a worthy cause for the token price of 2 Euros. You can read more about them here: Carnaval de Rio


Would I try it again? All proceeds via paypal to http://www.sendclaireonafreebietorio.justgiving.com/