Okay. so this is an english assignment. It had to be a creative peice based off food metaphors, or just something metaphors. As example, this metaphor is more the method of the food then the food itself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think, especially since I still have time to perfect it before I hand it in next week. SO REVIEW! ... Guess who got an A+ ! :) :) :)
Cocoa, for dusting moulds
125g unsalted butter, plus extra for greasing
200g dark cooking chocolate, chopped
2 egg yolks
½ cup caster sugar
¼ cup plain flour
Place butter and chocolate in a bowl over a saucepan of simmering water. Make sure the bowl is not touching the water. Stir until melted and combined, remove from the heat and cool slightly.
When she visited me, it was like floating in a hot air balloon. Bursts of the warmth she showed would capture me; holding me in a place that was just so gentle and precious. The way she held me, was like a dumpling protecting its flavours. The way she kissed me, made me incapable of ever forgetting how pure and sweet life can be. Her touch, was the equivalent of a kernel in a microwave; the very moment the pressure got so much that it has no choice but to burst free. Her love, like your nanna's homemade cooking: nothing can compare to the bubbles of pleasure it brings, even at the first bite. When she visits me, my life can be described as perfect. I have only one wish: that she can describe those visits as perfect too.
Before her, my life was filled only with a cold, cruel emptiness. A child brought up into an unloving and isolate family, only ever wanting to be loved. I used to study every night, from the time I got home, to the time I simply couldn't hold my eyes open any longer; just so there would be that chance, that when I had that ninety nine per cent average, they'd notice me. They never did. Then she came along, and my life began to have a purpose.
Next, combine eggs and sugar in a large mixing bowl and using electric beaters, beat until thick and creamy. Stir chocolate into the egg mixture, then sift in the flour and gently fold through.
The day I met her, I remember the clouds being made of a thick mist; constantly running into each other. I remember wondering whether the movements of those below influenced the sky's image at all. Then I realised that I didn't care. Leaning against a coffee chop, coffee in hand, I stood watching the mass of people, dodging possible collisions, rushing to get to where they needed to be. It looked like a dance routine. Every twist and turn had been perfected so as to never deceive the audience of getting their money's worth. There were those moments however, when someone would get lost in the movements and simply spin off stage out of frustration, and wait to get their bearings back before jumping into the dance steps once again.
She was one of those lost someones. Only when she escaped the crowd, she found herself standing next to tall figure eyeing her with indifference. She gave me the 'once-over', not at all concerned that she was being caught in the act. Her display of self-confidence amused me.
"Want to buy me a hot chocolate?"
Who was I to refuse?
There we sat for over an hour, bonding over hot beverages, talking about the things you would expect to talk about with a new acquaintance. I find out that she had an obsession of ducks and Disney movies. Hated seafood, autumn, and believed that singing in the shower killed brain cells. She had me laughing, and my throat felt red raw from the experience. First time I had laughed in what felt like forever. We agreed to do this again next week, and that was that. I was hooked.
The weeks began to fly by, and it felt as though I existed only for that one day a week when we met at the coffee shop. I could feel the lightness within me as I began to open up. Slowly, but surely, she was folding away my barriers of emptiness, layer by layer. It got to the point where I was always wanting to see her. She must've felt my longing, because one day as we were bidding each other goodbye, she reached up on tiptoes, curled her hand into my hair, and brought her lips up to mine. It was enlightening, illuminating, delightful, and all over things magical. Just like your nanna's homemade cooking.
The next week, and every week after that, she took me back to my place, and let's just say that each time it felt as though I was losing my virginity all over again. She made me feels things I had never felt before. I couldn't soak up everything she made me feel quick enough. It all just seemed to glow off me, creating room for the next tumbling emotions.
Divide mixture evenly between pudding moulds and cover with cling film and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. When ready to serve, remove puddings from fridge and bake for 12-15 minutes at 160° C.
Then, one day as I stood leaning up against the coffee shop waiting, she never showed. At first I thought that she had just been held up at work, or an appointment. Then, hours later, I wondered if she had lost count of the days and simply forgotten. I went home upset and lonely, but still content, knowing that she would be there without a doubt next week. She would apologize for her little mix-up, and I will happily bring her up to speed on what she had missed out on.
Only she didn't show. Not the next week, or the one after. It continued this way for a month. I felt lost. What had I done wrong? Did she still love me? Why hadn't she contacted me? Was she hurt; in a coma maybe? Didn't she care about the pain I felt from her abandonment? I felt so lost. I wanted her. I needed her. I needed the emotions she made me feel. Without them, I worried that I would go back to that world filled only with a cold, cruel emptiness; a child only wanting to be loved.
The sky was a consistent royal blue, stretching from horizon to horizon. I found myself wondering yet again, if the sky's image was determined by those below. I realised that I did care. If I had one answer, maybe I would find another, until eventually I would find the answer I was after. It had been a month, and I was still leaning against the coffee shop, coffee in hand; waiting. I couldn't let her go. How could I? She was my everything.
Rush hour ended long ago, so there was only a few strays walking along the path. I kept an eye out however, just in case. Then I saw her, and emotion filled me once more. My only love had returned! I started to race towards her, dropping my stale coffee in the process. I could feel myself glowing, emotions tumbling into me, once again. Then she caught my eye, and the world stood still.
My smile subsided as I saw the panic in her eyes. My hands clenched as I noticed her hand being held by another man. My ears reddened in humiliation as I watched as he brought his lips down to meet hers. My eyes began to sting from both the glistening sparkle on her finger as it caught the suns rays, and the feeling of betrayal that began to seep through me. My heart broke in two, as she looked straight into my tearful eyes, smiled shyly, and then walked away.
I slouched down onto the pavement, feeling every emotion she had ever made me feel leaking out of me along with the tears falling freely down my face. I stayed there, betrayed, burnt to the crisp, and in pain, until my eyes began to clear. When they did, I found myself unable to look away from the coffee cup I had previously dropped; its entire contents poured out onto the pavement.
Serve the chocolate fondants immediately with double cream or ice cream, and strawberries. The puddings should still be liquid in the centre, with a crispy outer surface. When cut, the chocolate sauce should come oozing out.
A/N:::: What'd'ya think? OI. if you liked this writing style, check out 'What I Wish', it has the same sort of flowness to it.
IMPORTANT (sorta) a few of you have thanked me for the recipe. Well, I got it off the internet, and I took out the 'helpful tips', so if anyone is truly interested, do me a favour and don't blow up the kitchen and then blame me. the recipe is from channelnine. .au/ ?blogentryid=681744&showcomments=true
Also, and lastly, I am good review returner. Just sayin'.