Dear J and J.

Yesterday I had a flash of optimism when I started looking at article titles that promised much about tiny little rusty do-lally-loop ding-a-lings.

Lo, they were so promising that I started dreaming about breakthroughs and major innovation.


Unfortunately. I didn't sleep well last night so that flash has been well-dampened. And it was further dampened when I started printing out the articles and saw how much teeny-tiny-leetle-minuscule text I had to get through. My eyes started twitching, my heart started skipping beats and my nose started bleeding - no it's got nothing to do with watching that scary trailer for "The Autopsy of Jane Doe".

But I shall do it. I shall go home at some point, wash the sheets so everything is white, fresh and sploodge free (that dog) then sit and knead read. Power my way through them, pick out the salient details and then whip it up into a delectable confection that reviewers will be wowed by. No soggy rationales here.

Hmm. Maybe I'll make Portuguese Egg Tarts instead. Will need puff pastry (poor James - the lovely beard he grew didn't help with his pastry) and creme pat for this. Then again, I could just go to T and T at 4:30 and scramble with the rest of the hungry and poor while the owners of President's Choice stand there and shout "Let them eat cake! As long as they pay!"

Off with their heads, I say, theirs and those belonging to the owners of Sobey's, although I wouldn't be in the least surprised if they'd already bought each other out.

Anyway James didn't quite get all the way to the end although he was close, but if he takes a more scientific approach to baking so that you can understand what goes on in the seething mass of whatever you're cooking, how bad can it be? That and John's cooking skills despite filling a glove with blood from a cut finger. May have to read through his book too.

I'm thinking of cakes because....well because...in case someone reads these pages...so they'll have a hint of what is to come. I just hope that they are not allergic to apricots. Or lemons. Or (maybe) strawberries.

Hmmm. Apricot jam. Lemon curd, strawberry jam. Chocolate ganache. How to combine all these into an ironic but loving symbol of psychological insight? How indeed.