Intoxicating Festivities

Did you know… growing up in an Asian country means you have never heard of such thing as ‘Boxing Day’? So as a 6 year old, I thought someone was taking a p*ss. At 8, I realized it was more serious than I had initially thought and decided it was the day a lot of boxing activities goes on. Ah, long gone are the days of simple-mindedness.

It is 6:43am – for the last 3 years, I would’ve been ready by now to head out the door with my shopping partner in crime (she’s hopeless at stopping me from buying anything!) to Pitt St mall to check out the Boxing Day sale before the entire population of Sydney gets there. I usually get in at 7 and back out by 11. The crowd starts to get too much and I get anxious when people get to close to me and my shopping bags. Refer to my post ‘Sunshine’ and you’ll better understand my weird phobia. Elaine on the hand will be there until she buys everything her hand or rather bank account can handle.

But today, Elaine is in Melbourne (no doubt out there beating the Melbournites to their very own mall – making me proud) and I’m sitting on my couch downing a glass of Berocca. I love a good bottle of wine but I’m pretty sure when I paid Dan Murphy $30 for the bottle, it did not say – Pinot Gris with a side of hangover.

Oh bugger, maybe I’m just getting old. Pardon me, older. Get it??? I am older, not old.

Did I mention how much brandy I hid in my Christmas cake? Maybe it is what that’s causing my mind to move at the speed of a slug while it spins – just a little, lopsidedly.

There was a half-cup to soak the fruit mix – sultanas, raisins, prunes, dates, glace cherries… I know there are more members of the grape family in there. I just can’t think fast enough with this slug mind. But anyways, I have a quarter cup saved to ‘feed’ the cake. Boy, did I feed it. All I could think of was, “More! More! More!” while the cake kept soaking it up!

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For someone who never used to be a fan of fruit cake, I quite like the cake. It’s not sickly sweet. I hate sickly sweet. The boy rated it. I could be bias (I did lose 4 hours of my life waiting for it to slow-bake and I did build some shoulder/arm muscle mixing the fruit into the dry and wet ingredients – created some sort of bond) and as for my partner, I’ve probably taught him well – “Just tell her it’s good and all will be well”. Eheh. Kidding. Right? I’ll have to find out.

Psst… check out the white fondant I made. Never again. For the next few weeks anyways.

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…and because you know I am amazing, here is the recipe: Traditional Christmas Cake

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