The trials and tribulations of relationships…and banoffee pie.

I once made this with an ex-boyfriend of mine – the cake turned out to be far more successful than the relationship so, as a now-singleton, I thought I’d have another solo attempt at it. It is actually my favourite desert, and is particularly well-known in Britain…however, before I begin, I should add a disclaimer – this desert is in no way healthy and it WILL make you fat. But it’s amazing.

  • 250g/9oz digestive biscuits
  • 100g/4oz butter, plus extra for greasing
  • 400g/14oz caramel (you can buy a tin of this) *
  • 2 bananas, peeled and sliced
  • 300ml/½ pint whipping cream, whipped until soft peaks form (or just buy some whipped cream if you want to simplify this further)

* (You can used condensed milk – sometimes called ‘dulce de leche’ – in a tin instead of buying caramel, but you have to submerge it in water for 3 hours – if you don’t immerse it fully in the water apparently the tin will explode…seriously, who has the time or stress capacity to put themselves through that? If you’re not a banoffee pie purist, a tin of caramel will be fine).

  1. Put biscuits into a food processor and pulse until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. (This is the way the recipe recommends…however, I find it more fun and far more satisfying to put the biscuits in a plastic bag and mash and bash – those are obviously the official cooking terms – the biscuits into breadcrumbs with a rolling pin. You could even imagine said ex-boyfriends face whilst doing this…not that I advocate that, of course).
  2. Transfer to a mixing bowl and rub the butter into the biscuits (this takes a while, but an added bonus is that your hands feel amazingly soft afterwards!)
  3. Place the mixture into a lightly greased, loose-bottomed cake tin and press down into the base and up along the sides. Chill for 30 minutes.
  4. Spoon the caramel over the biscuit base, and then cover with a layer of sliced bananas.
  5. Put whipping cream into a bowl and whip with a blender (this part was a bit trial-and-error for me – I did this with a hand-held one and stopped when the cream became thicker and, well, creamier – took about 5 minutes of blending). Spoon the whipped cream on top of the cake.
  6. Slice into wedges and serve.

The beauty of this type of desert is, even if you go horrifically wrong and it looks like a mess, it will still taste fantastic. This was a very simple recipe to make (it involved no actual cooking for a start!) but gets you used to techniques such as ‘rubbing in’ and allows you to use your own judgement as to when ‘the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs’ or what ‘whipped’ cream actually looks like, so it is a perfect starter recipe.

Overall, and I may be biased here, but I found that the cake I made by myself was nicer and significantly more satisfying than the one I made with my ex (I didn’t cry into my cake once)…much like the relationship I have with myself now if you want to get all Freudian about it! But this is just a cake. A delicious one.  And one which I recommend EVERYONE should try at least once!

Next week, I’ll post how my attempt at making a main meal for the whole family goes – surely a recipe for disaster?! Put it this way, I have the takeaway menus on standby…

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Gambling – why is it so, well, addictive?

Who hasn’t played the lottery before? We all do it, we all say we don’t expect to win, yet if we truly believed it, why do we spend our hard-earned money on it? Because somewhere, deep down, we do think we’re going to win. We watch the tv on a Saturday night (or check the numbers the next day for those lucky enough to have a life on a Saturday night!) and still get the slightly elevated heart-rate, tingling in your fingers whilst gripping on to your ticket, waiting for your numbers to flash up…and then experience the gut-wrenching disappointment when they inevitably never do. Or, very occasionally, the overwhelming excitement of winning £10, quickly followed by the comedown when you realise it’s still not the £1,000,000 you secretly hoped it would be. So why do we do it?

Well, I actually know (or, should I say, knew) someone who has won the lottery in the past few months. In fact, it was one of the biggest wins ever in Britain at £46,000,000. And I used to be in the same class as him at school. And possibly, even worse than that, I had recently been asked out by his best friend, who has just received a best-friend bonus gift of over £1,000,000. Sucks to be me! (Is it too late to get in contact do you think…?)

With another lucky winner having a large lottery influx just before my schoolmate in the same city, my hometown started being toted in the press as being ‘lucky’, and I began to wonder if some of this so-called ‘luck’ might have rubbed off on me. Which has led me, for the first time in around 5 years, to play the lottery tonight.

I decided I’d buy my tickets online (as it’s clearly too much effort to get up and actually go out mid-day on a lazy Saturday while watching old ER episodes back-to-back), but there was only one problem – you have to deposit a minimum of £5 and tickets are £1 each. I assessed my laziness, and decided to go ahead with this – I spent £2 on two tickets, and decided to spend my remaining £3 on the instant win online games…a rocky road, I’m sure you’ll agree.

However, I was amazed (or, deep down, was I half expecting/hoping for it?) to find that I began winning – very small sums, a £1 here, £2 there…until the big one. £5! Now, I had a dilemma – at £6 left in my online lottery funds, do I pay the money back into my account, or keep playing? Thankfully I did the sensible thing (bearing in mind, I am a graduate on a less-than-graduate salary) – I drew my £5 back out (effectively getting tonight’s tickets for free) and would play with the last remaining £1. I was sure to win, wasn’t I? I’d been on such a winning streak so far…

I didn’t win. And then I felt it – the mild disappointment, the small hole of emptiness of knowing that my chances of winning the big money had vanished and, more scarily, the desire to transfer more money in my attempt to win. At that point, I closed the site down, and hid my purse from myself until the sensations subsided, vowing to giving the gambling a break for a while.

Until tonight, of course, where I still have my two lottery tickets. And, failing to find myself a life this Saturday night, I’ll be there, in front of the tv, waiting and secretly half-expecting to see my numbers flash across the screen. Will I win? I doubt it. But there’s still that hidden part of me, deep down, that isn’t quite so sure…