My hubby loves cooking.
He loves it so much, in fact, that he takes great joy in curating musical playlists to cook along and then eat along to.
Tacos? Bring on the Mariachi bands! Noodles with miso? Fire up the shakuhachi! Seafood? Baby Shark on repeat.*
*No I'm not kidding. Note to self: is this why I've gone off fish? [Note from Toots: Baby Shark was only once. Usually it's sea shanties for sea food, or the appropriate regional music. Obviously]
While charming, my hubby's musical/culinary fusion does mean I fully expect one of our household to one day make like Pavlov's dog and start involuntarily salivating the second anybody hits "Bollywood playlist" on Spotify.
I, on the other hand, hate cooking.
It's not the act itself I despise, I can enjoy twirling pieces of sticks in the general direction of pots and pans as much as the next person.
It's more that fact that YOU HAVE TO DO IT EVERY DAY OR THE CHILDREN WILL RIOT.
The compulsory nature of it makes me feel like I'm tied up in a burning building full of angry terrorists waiting for Bruce Willis* to bust in and say "you don't need to chop any edible goods half-heartedly tonight Jen, not on my watch."
*I'll worry about this being an incredibly dated reference the minute my kids grow out of their occasional moments of embodying evil Alan Rickman.
Baking, on the other hand?
We loves it, precious.
It has been a treat for me to bake my entire life. For my eighth birthday I was given my VERY OWN RECIPE BOOK! The kind with absolutely no recipes in it, other than those you were to write in yourself. I loved it. I copied out umpteen recipes - usually from The Women's Weekly - yet I only ever actually made one.
Five million times.
Baking is where it's at. It's hard to mess up - by which I mean, even if you mess it up and it crumbles, it still tastes amazing.
Plus it's delicious even as you're making it (I've never understood why selling cake batter as is has never been a thing) and you fill your entire house with the oozing smell of sweetness and feelings of warmth as you go.
I also welcome the opportunity to wear a funky apron at every opportunity.
Anyway, I thought I'd share this recipe for lemonade scones. One of my mum's friends used to make these so I never had to.
But through 2020 lockdown, I baked so many of them that on reflection, I realise they were my coping mechanism, my lifeline, the wind beneath my wings. (They also led to much wind and the growth of my arm wings, but I will not be shamed!)
Anyway, here's the recipe, it's stupidly simple which is EXACTLY what I'm all about. Well that, and wearing aprons, licking spoons and nom nom noming all the way home.
Yipee Kye-Ah Mother Fudgers.