Bakers Of Mass Destruction: Pistachio & Fig

We dedicated this bake club to Nana whose birthday it was on this glorious day in September. I'm not bitter that it wasn't dedicated to me. Not to boast or anything but I did complete a 20 mile walk that night...

...and that's right, September! That makes this blog post more than three months late. I've been busy alright. Shut up.

Did I mention that the night before I did a 20 mile walk around London in aid of Maggie's Cancer Caring Centres? I got home around 07:00 and I had a wee snooze. I don't know where I got the energy to do anything that Saturday. I zonked like a conker that evening.

You might think that this is me, shattered and resting after completing a 20 mile walk but actually it isn't me. Anyway it was her birthday so we let her off.

We decided on this rather lovely looking cake from Design Sponge - I can't remember who found the recipe but the princess of the day (not me) was quite happy to have it as her birthday cake. I'm quite glad she agreed or I was going to rohypnol her ass.

Shelled pistachios are hella expensive. So we opted for cheap far east labour instead.

Our designated ball busters. I mean nut crackers. I mean pistachio shellers.
Also known as Chinese to you and me.

Once the pistachios were shelled and finely chopped we had to give them a good beating. The pistachios fool, not the Chinese people. This ain't that kinda website.

I tried explaining to the pistachios that my mamma said a good beating never did no one no harm but they wouldn't listen. Anyhoots don't be fooled by their crocodile tears, give 'em a good beating. However don't go overboard like our bondage loving friend Haryo.

This is not cat sick.

Gawd, he's got his small prick out again. Always one to prove a point.

I think I was praying for a Christmas miracle and guess what folks it came true. I prayed that I would upload the blog around Christmas time and lo-and-behold. See this blog post isn't late. It's perfectly on time. Just like our baby Jesu. Well he ain't ma baby, maybe he's yours.

I got my prick out for a reason you know. Perfection y'alls is the name of the game.

They got me doing the work again. It's like they forgot that I had just completed a 20 mile walk. I don't think I've mentioned that I'm not bitter for like five minutes at least.

I guess they just know when to hand over to perfection. That's it. Yeah, I is perfect bitches. Except for that thin bit in the corner.

Here is some fig compote we made earlier. Proper Blue Peter style ... well minus the three middle-England white presenters. Just four Konni (chiwa -bitches) Huqs!

Lick it now...