The True Story of Herman

4.43pm Herman is in the oven as I type. He has been there for over an hour. He smells good, he looks good, but he is still very soggy in the middle.

Herman came to live with us last Saturday. I accepted him from a very good friend with considerable enthusiasm. How hard could he be? He arrived securely sealed in a tupperware box with a set of instructions. I am ashamed to admit that after one Jubilee Pimms too many, I forgot all about Herman and left him in his airtight tupperware tomb overnight. Fortunately he is made of strong stuff and survived his ordeal.
On day two I transferred him to a large mixing bowl as instructed and gave him a good stir.
From day two onwards Herman has been festering away in the kitchen, his yeasty stale beer breath cheerfully greeting us each morning. Colin says he stinks, I think he smells interesting.

For the past few days I have been the enthusiastic custodian of not one but two Hermans. I agreed to adopt the second Herman (a sibling of the first) as his original owner didn't think he would survive a camping trip.

Both Hermans have been satisfyingly active since they were fed on Day 4. Yesterday the adopted Herman tried to escape from his bowl and made a horrible mess of my tea towel.

Today is officially Day 9. Earlier I fed both Hermans as instructed, then split each into four new mini-Hermans. I plan to take them into work tomorrow and convince anyone who shows even a passing interest to adopt one.
As today is a Sunday and I am highly unlikely to have either the time or inclination for home baking after work tomorrow,  I decided to live dangerously and bake my Herman cake today. Molly was initially keen to help but at the last minute decided that she would prefer to play 'fashion ladies' with Daisy. This appears to involve prancing around the garden wearing ill-fitting swimsuits and throwing dubious dance moves.
Undeterred, I enthusiastically mixed in all the extra ingredients, which I suspect would make quite a fine cake by themselves without Herman.
There are lots of websites devoted to Herman. He has featured in the Guardian and even has his own wikipedia entry. I was particularly impressed with this version and decided to make my Herman in a cake tin rather than a roasting tin. Whilst being fine for roast potatoes, none of my roasting tins look clean enough for cake baking. I finally put Herman in the oven at about 3.35pm.

4.58pm Herman is still in the oven. He is now both burnt and undercooked. I remain confident that he will eventually become a splendid cake.
5.22pm Herman is still not cooked. He is slightly more cooked than he was but still soggy in the middle. I am wishing I had followed the instructions properly and put him in a roasting tin. I have taken Herman out of the oven, removed the cake tin and turned him over, my eyes stinging with the acrid stink of burnt raisins (surely one of the worst smells known to mankind).

4.49pm After a bit of optimistic prodding, I have cut Herman in half, put each half on a baking sheet and stuffed him back in the oven. Maybe I can cut the burnt bits off later?

18.00pm Herman is still in the oven. He is looking rather strange. He is both dry and soggy, crispy and moist. Will anyone actually want to eat him? How can I disguise him as an appetising cake? Hopefully a spot of glace icing will do the trick.

18.13pm After two and a half hours Herman is finally out of the oven. He is still not properly cooked and looks alarmingly like something from Prometheus. In fact the more I think about it, Herman is a lot like something from Prometheus. He takes over his host's life for an incubation period then evolves into something unpredictable, uncontrollable and rather frightening.

Herman the Friendship Cake

Herman is a sour dough 'friendship' cake. 

Do not fear him, he is very low maintenance and nothing bad will happen if you accidentally kill him or even if you just decide you can't be bothered with him.

Herman needs to live in a bowl on your worktop for ten days without a lid on. Be warned, Herman does smell a bit.

Herman will die if you put him in the fridge!

If Herman stops bubbling he is dead. Throw him away.

It is not necessary to talk to Herman, but it won't do him any harm. 

Day 1. 

Take the lid off Herman.

Place him in a mixing bowl capable of holding 2 litres.

Cover him with a clean tea towel.

Days 2 & 3. Stir Herman daily.

Day 4. Herman is hungry! 

Feed him the following ingredients, stir well and cover again:

115 g plain flour

225 g granulated sugar

235 ml milk

Days 5 - 8. Stir Herman daily.

Day 9. Herman is hungry again!

Add the same ingredients as day 4.

Divide into 4 equal portions.

Give 3 away to friends, along with a copy of these instructions.

Herman stays with you and is ready to be baked.

Day 10. Herman is starving!

Stir him well and add the following ingredients:

225 g plain flour

225 g caster sugar

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla essence

2 heaped tsp cinnamon

2 heaped tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

160 ml vegetable or sunflower oil

2 cooking apples, peeled, cored, and cut into chunks

100 g walnuts or almonds (optional)

200 g raisins or sultanas (optional)

Mix everything together and place into a cake tin or a large greased roasting tin.

Sprinkle with 50 g brown sugar and 50 g melted butter.

Bake for about 45 minutes at 350 °F, 175 °C, Gas Mark 4.

Check after about 25 minutes as Herman may be ready. If he is cooked on top but still soggy underneath you may need to cover him in foil for the remaining baking time. Test Herman with a knife or skewer, if it comes out clean he is cooked. You may need to cook him for a lot longer than 45 minutes!


A copy of these instructions can be found here:
http://halfafishfinger.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/herman-friendship-cake.html

Dear Father Christmas...

Daisy has written her annual letter to Santa. This year she has asked for the following:

A Magic Rise Oven

An Air Swimmer

Aqua Beads

A Box of Shocks

Elefun

Smash Putatoes (sic)

Squinkie Adventure

Lollypop Maker

Disney Snow Globe Maker

Dino Bites

I suspect that the majority of this list has been suggested by Molly, who in turn appears to have drawn her inspiration from a single advert break on Boomerang. As far as I am aware Daisy has not previously expressed any interest in any of the toys on her list (with the notable exception of the Air Swimmer - but more about that later). Neither, come to think of it, has she expressed any enthusiasm for the present that she is in fact going to receive this year. Colin and I have decided that Harry Potter Lego is the way forward and we are very much looking forward to building it on Christmas morning. 

I am confident that Daisy will not have time to dwell upon her disappointment at not receiving Smash Putatoes on Christmas day. She will be too busy cowering behind the sofa as she is menaced by a giant, helium-filled, radio-controlled clown fish. Courtesy of Auntie Jane we have already taken delivery of a disappointingly flat Air Swimmer. Initially I had planned to make a Christmas Eve excursion to our local party emporium to have the fish filled with helium, but have now decided that this is simply asking for trouble. It would be hard to explain to Molly and Daisy that their present had simply swum away. Also, assuming I did make it home safely with my floating aquatic friend, I cannot think of anywhere we could hide a six-foot clown fish overnight.

I decided instead to procure our very own canister of helium, thus enabling us to secretly fill the fish after bedtime, refill him as required and of course to inhale helium to our hearts content. I do enjoy a shopping challenge and I have to confess that it was not only a quest for Airmiles that led me to my rather expensive accident on Tesco's forecourt a couple of weeks ago. I was secretly checking out the price of helium at the party shop next to Tesco under the pretext of a trip to buy fuel. I suspect that a head filled with thoughts of bargain helium may have contributed to my otherwise inexplicable decision to fill my diesel car with £60 of unleaded petrol. Although I have subsequently found and ordered cheaper helium online, the £3.50 I have saved, does not make up for the gut wrenchingly enormous cost of having my tank emptied, cleaned and refilled.

The Peacock of Doom

Like a giant inflatable fish, Christmas is looming. I am surprisingly well prepared this year. Although I have once again failed to procure Heston's Christmas pudding, the tree is up, the presents have been purchased (largely online and also on credit - but think of the airmiles!) cards have been bought, though admittedly not yet written. I have overcome my horror at the small fortune demanded in exchange for three books of second class stamps. I have bought tasteful yet economical wrapping paper and a make-your-own crackers kit. I am not sure if Father Christmas will be requiring his own secret wrapping paper this year, but I suspect he probably still will.

I have already received one (disappointingly short) round robin letter. I love them. Each year I plan to write one myself, maybe this year I will. We always get a splendid one from the parents of one of Colin's friends in America and I very much look forward to my annual update on the lives of Bob and Marie. Although I have never met them I really enjoy reading about their ups and downs. Their sincere gratitude for their blessings in life is genuinely heartwarming. I really do like Christmas. I don't think I could make it through the winter without it. I delight in tinsel and fairy lights, I enjoy a carol, I relish a mince pie. The Festive Season is a time for traditions and second only to a theme, my next favourite thing is a tradition. This year as they have done for as long as they can remember, Molly and Daisy will leave a mince pie and a glass of Shadowbush Sloe Gin out for Father Christmas and a carrot and a bag of reindeer food for Rudolph (a lucrative mixture of porridge oats and glitter procured at the school christmas fayre). I have once again ceremonially tied the Peacock of Doom to the penultimate branch of the tree. Christmas is also a time for family and against all better judgement and previous experience, I am looking forward to spending it with mine. Like the boy in the John Lewis advert, I can barely wait to present my sister with the needle-felted cardigan I have lovingly crafted for her from one of my old jumpers which shrank in the wash (Oh Kirstie Allsop, what would I do without you?). I am also happy that the crew of HMS Ocean will be home for Christmas. Their homecoming video had apparently had one and a half million views on Youtube, according to the BBC it made Mariah Carey's day and I can confirm that it improved Molly and Daisy's morning too.

Molly and Daisy watching HMS Ocean's version of All I want for Christmas

Getting Started...

I wish I could play a musical instrument. I wish I had practiced as a child. I wish my mother hadn't (quite reasonably) allowed me to give up. Consequently I am reluctant to let Molly abandon the recorder even though daily practice almost inevitably results in one of us crying and rolling on the floor.

Yesterday, when I suggested that she might like to adhere more thoroughly to the music as written, rather than playing the notes freestyle, she decided to leave home. She stormed upstairs and began to pack her suitcase. I can only wonder what motivated her to include her yellow school swimming hat.

Anyway to cut a long story short, after some encouragement via facebook in response to the swimming hat post, I have decided to try writing a blog. As a result I am now entertaining fantasies of publishing deals, world domination and endless riches, in the style of JK Rowling. Predictably starting a blog has not turned out to be a simple process, I have spent most of the morning ignoring my family, trying to set up a new e-mail account and a new g-mail account, getting Colin to take a photograph of a fishfinger in my pocket and signing up for a blog. Not to mention fending off ever more desperate requests for breakfast, establishing that advent calendars may not be opened until Thursday and spending 40 minutes on the phone talking my irate mother through her dysfunctional e-mail programme. 

I have promised Molly that I will assist her in her quest to become Junior Bake Off champion 2013. Today this involves making cranberry and white chocolate muffins. Yesterday, with considerable guilt, I bought myself a holly leaf shaped plunger cutter, which will make me very happy as I will be able to create my very own embossed sugar paste holly leaves. The guilt was not so much about the cost of the cutter itself (£3.49 to which Colin's response was "How much?"), it was the additional expense of the nice red cupcake cases, the specialist 'holly green' food colouring and a large block of flower sugar paste. I did get a small amount of change from a £10 pound note, but since Colin has just finished work I am supposed to be economising and cutting back to essentials. In my mind, at the time, all four items seemed  fairly essential to producing Christmas cupcakes.

My other problem is that I have become mildly obsessed with airmiles, or Avios as they have now been rebranded. I have 15000, I need 40,000 to get myself and Colin to New York and back to celebrate my 40th birthday in 2013. The girls are not invited. I am mentally justifying most of my pre-christmas expenditure by consoling myself with the avios I am racking up.

Molly has just interrupted again, complaining that there is no number 19 on her advent calendar. Needless to say, there is. A mountain of washing is still awaiting my attention, the dishwasher needs emptying, the chickens need cleaning and Molly is already sorting out her ingredients...

Cranberry and White Chocolate Muffins

1. Measure and mix caster sugar and butter without too many problems.
2. Retrieve pebble weights from Donk's spaceship.
3. Berate sous-chef for eating aforementioned mixture.
4. Add more eggs than recommended due to smallness of eggs.
5. Pick out bits of shell and straw from mix.
6. Allow sous-chef to use handheld electric whisk to splatter mixture across worksurface.
7. Add plain flour, bicarb and baking powder carefully, emphasising importance of level spoonfuls.
8. Allow Sous chef to use electric whisk again, this time to create impressive dust clouds in kitchen.
9. Sous chef chokes on aforementioned dust cloud and falls off stool.
10. Add Craisins and whole bag of white chocolate chips.
11. Remind sous-chef repeatedly to put only a small dollop of mixture into lovely red cases, avoiding getting mixture all over tin, self and kitchen..
12. Banish sous-chef from kitchen and finish the job properly.

13. Closely supervise precarious placing of cakes in hot oven and bake for approximately 15 minutes.
14. Estimate remaining bake time, having forgotten to set timer.
15. Demand that sous-chef helps with washing up.
16. Order sous-chef out of kitchen and finish washing up properly.
17. Use lovely new plunger-cutter to make holly leaves from sugar paste, sprinkling liberally with edible green glitter.
18. Persuade sous-chef that marshmallow frosting involving whisking egg whites and sugar over a bain-marie is ambitious. Use ready rolled fondant left over from Halloween instead.
19. Use peach schnapps leftover from last Christmas mixed with apricot jam to glue fondant in place.
20. Forbid sous-chef from drinking peach schnapps.
21. Spend considerable amount of time making tiny balls of red fondant icing then dipping them in red edible glitter, becoming increasingly annoyed with sous chef, self and general unavailability of shiny red cake decorating ball type things.
22. Assemble cupcakes and allow sous-chef to take all credit for production of cupcakes.
23. Congratulate sous-chef and speculate on sous-chef's chances of victory on Junior Bake Off.
24. Abandon horrible mess in kitchen, ignore family and post on new and exciting blog.....