Last night as The Author was preparing dinner, he said, “I don’t actually enjoy cooking anymore.”
I know how he feels.
Around our house, dinner can be a contentious time. The Author and I prefer a more continental dining time, and the kids prefer – well, I don’t actually know what they prefer half the time. When we try to get dinner on the table at a reasonable hour (that would be 7:30 for us), they complain that they don’t want to eat that early. When we lag behind and get dinner on the table late (sometimes as late as 9:00), they complain about the food.
This morning, when I woke up to the blustery, rainy and grey weather, I decided to stay in bed a little longer. Then I realised that the clocks got turned ahead last night, to British Summer Time, so in fact it was an hour later than I thought. But the kids were still asleep, the cat was purring, and the Author was gently snoring beside me: so I was staying in bed. Then I let my mind wander, and I remembered these delicious little creamy balls of rice that had been soaking in honey-orange syrup all night. That got me up straightaway.
To paraphrase Shakespeare, some cookies are made great, and some cookies have greatness thrust upon them. I think that biscotti are the latter.
With very few ingredients (what, no butter?), biscotti seem like cookies born of deprivation. A biscotto* is a cookie that is hard, dry, and looks very much like toast. Truly, there is not much to recommend it. But have it with a cup of tea or coffee, or even a glass of red wine, or vin santo (my favourite), and you have achieved cookie perfection. Continue reading →