mornings

I was doing my daily blog reading yesterday and snickering to myself, which is a good thing because it means I was entertained. One post about a Halloween incident led to a series of comments that went from killing death, to cutting grass, to the other kind of grass to scones… don’t ask, it’s something you just have to experience for yourself. Just don’t mention that you heard it from me, because as an American, I am subject to getting crap before I even open my mouth. Luckily their nice over there, as long as we stay over here, or something like that.

Anyway, back to my day. I continued reading a bit but the whole “scone” thing stuck in my head for most of the morning. I should probably mention that Halloween night, we ordered out because I wasn’t going to try and cook while handing out candy to spastic children who don’t get sugar on a regular basis. (I bet you’ve noticed that I use just about any excuse for ordering out rather than cooking) I don’t know if it was the food or just a bug, but I ended up sleeping sitting up on the couch because I wanted to die, and to top it off there was no ghost on Ghost Hunter, so it was a bad night all around.

Back to yesterday morning, I hadn’t eaten and by noon still didn’t want to, so I made a cup of tea and pretended not to hear the voice in my head. “Oh those would be really nice wouldn’t they, with some jam….” Did I mention that my voice sounded a bit like the little worm in the beginning of the movie Labyrinth? You know the one, “Come inside, have some tea…” Bastard.

Growing up in the south does not prepare one to make scones, biscuits are not the same (I’m referring to the American version that are like bread but not, rather than the English cookie like things that you dip in tea). According to the husband, who is English, scones are dry evil things that you have to put cream and jam on to make them edible. I believe there was sarcasm there, but then it’s always there, and for reference again, the mix you can buy here does not make scones. Period. End of Story. No, they are not. Those are not under any circumstances even remotely related to scones. Scones should hurt when you get hit with them. You get the idea.

I had to go to the bookshelf, the one that I don’t even bother to dust, and retrieve one of those books. I have these, not because the recipes are really good and generally easy to make. I have them because I totally admire any woman who is willing to shove a huge slice of chocolate cake into her mouth and enjoy it without feeling guilty about it. So here I was, with a cup of tea and a cookbook in hand and the little voice. “I don’t care if Nigella is English and it’s the perfect scone recipe, when you make them, they won’t be right…” STFU already!!

Luckily I had already done the task of finding the hard to find things in the first year of being married and I know where to get proper tea because American’s suck when it comes to tea, and that is one point that I will not argue with ever. Needless to say they have the other things necessary for this little cooking adventure as well. This whole process needs to be completed before either the kid or the husband are home, because it does involve trying to perfect the pouting and looking cute while trying to stir some doughy stuff around while flour flies around the room and ends up on stuff on the other side of the kitchen. Did I mention that I have to clean the kitchen now? There’s a reason I don’t cook.