Monday, 5 March 2012
They were looking at Small Perfect Cloud. It had come up to the World-Window, looking in from outside. Its grey-blue eyes were piercing the glass like diamonds, shining with the light of curiosity onto a table decked with something it wanted. It had smelled it a long way off. It had smelled its delicious warmth as it was travelling the skies, looking for a spot in which it could from the sun (they were playing astral hide and seek). As soon as Small Perfect Cloud's nostrils had picked up the scent of what it was only able to identify as "want", however, it had turned around, wagged its tail in the sun's annoyed and sneezing face and trotted off towards the Palace. Divine Cherry and Celestial Dragon were admiring what the oven had magically issued, looking at it from various angles, trying to find an opening. All Divine Cherry had done was put a mixture in the oven and puff! out of nowhere, there had come this out. She suspected Time had something to do with it, but couldn't prove it. This got her quite worked up, so that cherries all over the world turned sour (resulting, incidentally, in the creation of the Black Forest Cake which prior to that used to be called Sweetest-Cake-Possibly-Gotten-Out-Of-The-Fruits-Of-This-DamnItWhereIsMyTorch-Forest).
A blue-skinned old man, dressed in furs and beads and surrounded by flames, and dancing on one foot on the back of a stupid demon while holding a small drum in one hand, making funny signs with another hand, pointing to a splinter in his toe with yet another hand, and failing to notice that the cigarette in his last hand had actually caught fire – all the while not flinching at the tickling of a fastidious fly out of fear that the snake around its neck might awake and kill him – once told Divine Cherry "not to worry". That had been the most inappropriate piece of advice in the universe.
So Celestial Dragon decided to take matters in his own hand: he picked up the knife that was lying on the table. He cut the cake, releasing all its aromas, its scents, its baked pheromones of desire. Small Perfect Cloud, unable to refrain itself any longer – and forgetting the windowpane in front of it – tried to jump at the cake on the table – still not thinking about the solid glass in front of its nose – and whack! smashed into it. Much to the delight of everybody else, especially the sun.
That apple cake turned out to be the best apple cake in the world, a claim not in the least influenced by Small Perfect Cloud's clumsiness.
- 3 large apples
- 175 ml sunflower oil
- 225 g sugar
- 2 medium eggs
- 210 g plain flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/2 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
- 1/2 taspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 40 g cashews, chopped (or walnuts)
- 80 g raisins
Preheat the oven at 180°C. Peel and cut the apples in thin slices, then put them temporarily aside. Whisk the oil and the sugar with the electric whisks. Add the eggs, one at a time, and continue beating them until you get a creamy mixture. Add the flour, the cinnamon, the salt, the baking powder and the vanilla extract. Stir well and add the fruits. Pour the mixture in a greased and floured round mould. Bake for one hour / one hour and 15 minutes or until, when touching the surface of the cake, it springs back.
Torta di mele
- 3 mele grosse
- 175 ml olio di semi
- 225 g zucchero
- 2 uova medie
- 210 g farina
- 1/2 cucchiaino di sale
- 1/2 cucchiano di bicarbonato di sodio
- 1/2 cucchiaino cannella in polvere
- 1/2cucchiaino di estratto di vaniglia
- 40 g anacardi sbriciolati, o noci
- 80 g uvetta
- zucchero a velo per spolverare alla fine
Scaldare il forno a 180 C. Sbucciare e tagliare le mele a fettine sottili e metterle da parte. Nel frattempo sbattere l'olio con lo zucchero con le fruste elettriche, aggiungere le uova una ad una continuando a sbattere fino ad avere un composto cremoso. Aggiungere la farina, la cannella, il bicarbonato, la vaniglia e il sale. Mescolare bene e aggiungere le mele e la frutta secca. Versare il composto in una teglia imburrata e infarinata. Cuocere per un'ora abbondante o fino a che toccando la superficie della torta, questa risulta elastica.
And Spread the Mess