Well I say diabetic… that’s overselling it a bit. Really it was…whats the word? Oh yes, that’s it, minging, minging shortbread.
Now before I go any further I think its only fair to explain a bit about my mum.
My mum is pretty ace. She not only makes shockingly lovely wedding gowns but she also bakes yummy cakes which she likes to make in vast quantities for friends, family, neighbours, in fact pretty much anyone who might come near her kitchen.
Her cakes are almost as good as her wedding dresses but as with most things associated with mum they can be a little er, unpredictable.
We neither of us are great at stopping to think; preferring to jump in with both feet whenever an idea takes us and consider the consequences later. Usually this is fine if a little er, exhilarating for those arround us. Other times it can lead to mini and occasionally maxi disasters.
An example of a maxi disaster might be my mum sanding through a mains water pipe one morning and then, while pulling and allnighter trying to catch up time lost when dealing with said water leak, sanding through a gas pipe as I and a friend slept upstairs. Not many 8 year olds get to spend a night in a police car while the gas board evacuate the street. I can’t reccomend it.
In the spirit of fairness I should probably point out that I’ve had my own share of maxidisasters. Such as getting the wrong train home from Assisi and ending up on the night train to Florence. Where a helpful man gave me dollars to get home, a helpful lady made me stuff them down my bra and some helpful police kidnapped me to keep me safe while waiting on the platform at 3am. Even better an attempt to get my parents in the uk to give a message to my brother in Italy that I was safe (without them telling me off for getting the wrong train) ended up with all parties under the impression that I was safe… having been caught up in a devestating train crash.
“Problem on the train” translates to “fatal crash” in my family apparently. Go figure.
So what I’m saying. Me and my mum. We get things done. Not always the right things admittedly, but they definitely get done.
Knowing this I hope it becomes easier to understand how my mum managed to make a recipe with three ingredients, butter, sugar and flour, but forgot the sugar. I’m willing to bet money on the fact she was making the shortbread while also trying to text me, iron sheets, hang a picture and buy a sewing machine on eBay. Something had to slip and turned out to be the sugar.
My dad laughed, my mum made a new batch of shortbread with all the important ingredients and i got a tin full of sugar free biscuits.
It actually wasn’t so bad. A bit crumbly and really rich but ultimately not something a normal person would consider eating. Embarrasingly I still struggled to stop myself tucking in. I just love cake too much. The shame.
So what do you do with (almost) inedible shortbread?
Initially I was going to make a cheesecake. – biscuit crumble base premade curtesy of Mum. But as I walked home thoughfully nibbling on a piece of diabetic crunch. (I told you, I really can’t help myself) I walked past a bag of knobbly apples tied to a gate with a cheerful “please help yourself” sign.
I think we all know where his post is going. Knobbly apples found on the street… Crumbly floury buttery biscuits… the crumble crusader strikes again to prevent food waste misery. As if I needed any excuse to make a crumble.
Thanks Mum! You’re a total star