caramelized white chocolate rhubarb cake

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Taxidermist was a consistent figure in the top three results of career aptitude tests I took in junior high school – a curious alignment between the survey’s repertoire and my answers.

Given that these surveys are renowned for their insight and accuracy and that I have decided that I am qualified to decide on the next twenty years of your life, I have magnanimously bestowed this revealing questionnaire upon any lost soul who had the misfortune of stumbling upon this blog. I hope it will take up its rightful place as the deciding factor guiding futures. Of course, twenty years is a long time so this survey will also provided an actionable recipe that you can make for tonight.

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vanilla rooibos cookies with cashews & caramelized white chocolate

SAM_0793SAM_0754I am currently recovering from the deluge of silence that has fallen upon the household. The bathroom – once a bustling hub of activity – is now desolate: the ants that have made it their home have gone.

Obviously they never cared to venture further than the washroom – the kitchen was just far too passé for these ants.

I suppose this is what it is like to become an empty nester — and it is delightful!

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caramelized white chocolate, rose & raspberry tart with pistachio praline

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A surreal night began when a man walked onto the subway carrying a small coffin, taped shut. He sat down, nestling it upright between his legs where it reached the level of chin. Indeed, people need to transport coffins somehow, and public transit is an accessible choice.

In a story this would be a premonition of something. This being my life, I thought that was all it was to be.

Then I encountered Eva. An hour before midnight, on the walk home from the subway station, she nearly slipped on a patch of ice several steps ahead of me, then turned and waited for me to catch up.

She wore an ankle length golden brown fur coat and a matching brown-hued keffiyeh on her head. Her birdlike face was small, pale, thin, and wrinkled, and she peered at me with wide blue eyes.

Did she ever blink? Now I can’t remember.

“This dreadful ice! I was just telling those lovely folks about it—” she flung her hand in the direction of the corner store behind her—”They’re Chinese. Are you Chinese?” she turned to look at me, then a second later smiled widely, “Am I Chinese? No! I’m Scottish!” she declared. “By ancestry.”

Then she returned to the ice, continuing, “This reminds me of that dreadful year with all the ice. I fell and broke my foot right here.”

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