‘Tis the season for George to make his Hot Cross Buns and as usual, he’s made several batches in pursuit of Perfection.
He remembered that last Easter, the buns turned out just a little heavy and somewhat bland... their Crosses detachable, and able to exclude draughts from under the front door.
He’s always ready to learn, though, from his mistakes (or the Faulty Equipment he’s obviously plagued with). So this year he managed to produce Really Leaden, vaguely chilli-flavoured buns, with Crosses that could make a nasty dent in the wall if chucked with gusto.
Was he downhearted? Sadly, No - he consulted several million cookery sites and asked for tips from Everyone including a professional chef we met, and the village baker. Who was slightly baffled but kindly suggested he may have put too much flour in.
He has kept trying, and we have kept eating them. (In fact, they’re not too bad if drenched in brandy and flambéd, or used as the Very Base of a Trifle)…
But there IS a limit to how many we, our friends, acquaintances and passers-by can eat, and now our waistbands and our freezer overfloweth.
When I spied two forgotten buns lurking at the bottom of the tupperware this morning, I decided in a Flash of Inspiration to break them up for the Bluetits. After all, there's butter and sugar and stuff of such ilk, and the birds would at least enjoy the Currants...
Well, me and the Bluetits had to give up, but there's a Woodpecker still trying to tunnel into one...
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