souffle success

I made this. It...worked? Bit dense maybe? I don't have extensive souffle eating experience, so it's hard to judge, but Sherlock ate two of them, so it must've not been too bad. It was actually a pretty simple recipe. It made six, so Mrs Hudson got one, and security got the other. Hopefully they shared and didn't go for a fight to death or anything. They're more used to L's desserts, which are worth fighting over. Hopefully this has erased the shame of the cheese and vinegar incident from everyone's mind.

And here's a tiny bat for Sherlock (and everyone else who wants one):

Lestrade's feeling better, which is wonderful. Sherlock's not even fake-coughing, despite school tomorrow. There was sun today and it looks like there might even be more tomorrow. Things are looking up...and I'm reading about tasers. Or, really, TASERs, since it's an acronym. There's an entire chapter on them in Clinical Forensic Medicine.  Apparently the man who invented them named them after his favourite character: Tom A. Swift and his Electric Rifle (TASER). So, there's something I'm willing to bet most of you didn't know. And will never have occasion to use now that you do know it. 

flourless chocolate cake

Mrs Hudson gave me this one, along with a discourse on what exactly 'stiff peaks' means. 

1.Preheat oven to 150C (300F) degrees and butter an 8 inch springform pan (this is one that the bottom comes out of, which you need because if you turned the pan upside down, the cake might come out, but only in bits, it's too fragile).

2. Melt 125g (4oz) bittersweet chocolate with 1 tsp vanilla, 1 Tbs coffee, and 1 Tbs brandy.

3. Add 90g (6 Tbs) butter, 100g (1/2 cup) sugar, and 50g (1/2 cup) of ground almonds. Heat until butter is melted.

4. Beat 3 egg yolks until lemon coloured and add them to the chocolate mixture.

5. Whip 3 egg whites until they form stiff peaks and fold them gently into the chocolate mixture.

6. Bake for 45 minutes. If you stick a knife or something in the middle, it won't come out completely clean, but it shouldn't be gooey either. Mrs Hudson said it should have 'moist crumbs', which it did, the second time. Sort of. 

official

So, to sum up: Lestrade's moving in with us, officially, and letting out his flat, which is wonderful, and I get what I suspect is a really stupid grin whenever I think about it.

We had a very nice holiday, full of sand and sea and stars, but mainly, I've discovered in doing the wash today, sand. Phobos and Deimos keep looking mournfully at Mycroft, as if to ask why he moved the sea and all those convenient strangers they could terrify into giving them bits of sandwich.

Mycroft's off to school on the 6th, which is suddenly very very soon, so we're starting to get organised for that. His mum sent him the new computer he wanted. Here's a picture with a tea mug for scale:

birthday dinner

Happy birthday, Gregory Martin Finchley Lestrade. I love you, and I'm so lucky to have met you.

Even if you did think I was a serial killer at the time.

sanity: trace amounts

None of us are [is] (thank you, Mycroft) [my tag still says I'm 12] (...I'll see what I can do about that) happy Lestrade is away, obviously. Only one of us rang his superintendent and explained very carefully why he shouldn't be sent away again, or, if he was, that we should go with him. Especially if there were wolves. Three guesses who it was, and the first two don't count.

lowered expectations

There are two kinds of boys who join the Army: the ones who think it will be hell, and the ones who think it will be a lark. Guess which sort whinge more during basic training? You can think about everything in life like that, and things get easier when you do. Imagine the worst and you are almost always pleasantly surprised.

That holiday to Mallorca you mean to take - well, it'll probably rain the whole time, and you'll have a miserable cold, and someone will steal your camera. No? What? You mean mean it was sunny and you only had a bit of a headache and you got a great photo of - oh, what do they have in Mallorca? Rafael Nadal? That's brilliant!

double glazing

We made two sorts of glaze, hence my astonishingly clever title. I only have photos of one sort, so let's start with that. 


Chocolate Glaze
3/4 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
3 tablespoons butter
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract


Combine, microwave, and stir. Actually Lestrade said you really shouldn't microwave the vanilla, you should add it in after, but I microwaved it and it was fine. Don't tell on me. This was the best glaze by far. It was very thick and very chocolate and very shiny on the biscuits. 

a recipe for successful biscuits

Lestrade's Mum's Italian Shortbread

3 cups flour

1 cup icing sugar

1 cup olive oil

(optional, but tasty: 1/4 tsp salt and 1 tsp vanilla)

Combine all ingredient into a dough ball. At first this will seem impossible, but it will come together eventually. It's easier if you use your hands and still easier if you use two children to do it for you.

(Also optional: divide into 2-4 small balls and flavor with...whatever. Below you can see one of our balls contains tiny pieces of chocolate that Sherlock created with two bars of Flake, a plastic bag, and a rubber mallet. The other we left plain. Lestrade says you can use almost anything, but that too much liquid will make the dough turn into a batter, which is not optimal.)

two recipes

The first, from Beth, we made today. Filo triangles with spinach and feta. Once we got the hang of folding them and made sure to absolutely drench them in olive oil so the filo didn't rip into tiny pieces, it didn't go too badly! The last two looked like actual triangles instead of strange, misshapen lumps of a dubiously food-like nature. They also puffed up a bit and the filling bubbled out the edges. Photo and recipe:

the pizza pit, part 2

Where were we? Yes, right, eating the best pizza in existence. Well, not quite. We had to order it first.

The young woman in charge (short black hair, multiple piercings, flour-covered...everything) tore herself away from feeding wood into the brick oven, slapped her hands down on the counter, and glared at Sherlock. "Whaddya want?" she said.

I suspect it might've sent more delicate children off crying, but this was Sherlock. "Large with olives and anchovies and pineapple and sausage and I wanna Coke too."

the pizza pit, part 1

One of the kind people giving my spinach suggestions (it's almost gone! It's like an internet miracle) said spinach and feta pizza. Good timing, as the boys are starting to get rebellious at the thought of spinach for one more meal. Pizza, however, clearly elevates spinach to a higher, more appetizing state of being.

"With pineapple," Sherlock said.

"With sausage and anchovies," Mycroft said.

advice on spinach

I got two helpful spinach suggestions yesterday, one of which I've looked up a recipe for: palak paneer, an Indian spinach dish with cheese. Sounds good and also as if it will use a lot of spinach, which is key. Tonight, though, we had Lestrade to dinner and he's not keen on Indian food.

(I think he's one of those poor unfortunate souls who can't tolerate anything too spicy without searing his poor little taste buds right off. He refuses to try the new Thai place down the road, and he won't touch wasabi. The spinach recipe isn't spicy at all in that sense, but better not to risk it.) Anyhow I'll need to buy spices and cheese, and today was a bit busy for that.

popeye the sailor man*

When I made that New Year's resolution to learn to cook one thing so I could give Mrs Hudson a break once in a while, I did not mean spinach. Apparently I should've made my intentions clearer because the universe, in the form of a rogue shopping delivery (Mrs H disclaims all responsibility, and I know I didn't do it) has presented me with a truly enormous bag of the stuff.

inevitable disaster

Biscuits sound so innocuous, don't they? Not like making cake. Making cake sounds loads more complicated. Or bread. Or even a proper meal with all major food groups appropriately represented.

You may have thought I was joking about the plastic on the frozen pizza. I wasn't. Maybe that was a hint to leave the whole area of cookery well enough alone. But:

Sherlock: JOHN. JOHN. JOHN. BISCUITS.
Me: ...It's five in the morning. Go back to bed.
Sherlock: BISCUITS. I FOUND A RECIPE, JOHN.
Me: Why did anyone think it was a good idea to teach you to read?

All right, I didn't say that last part.

But, several hours later, I was actually awake, and Mycroft was off with his maths tutor, Ms P, and Sherlock and I were on our own, and he had found a recipe...

Sherlock: I don't think flour is the same as self-raising flour.
Me: They're both flour. We haven't got self-raising, and I'm not going to the shops in this.
This: *continues to bucket down*
Me: It says rub the butter in with your fingertips.
Sherlock: I'll do it! No, I can do it myself!
Half the flour: *ends up on the floor*

You can picture him standing on the counter in bare feet and periodic table pyjamas, bent over that mixing bowl like Dr Frankenstein over his creature. Phobos and Deimos joined us. They cleaned up the flour quite handily. By rolling in it. We now have ghost dogs.

Anyhow, here's the recipe. Chocolate Ginger Nuts. Hope you have better luck than we did. In the end, we gave up and ate the chocolate bits. Perhaps Mrs Hudson can advise us when she gets back.