Take An Umbrella In Case There Are Cupcakes

When it's raining and sunny at the same time, there are rainbows. But if it's raining while you eat a cupcake... does that mean you end up with sprinkles?

Cupcake Weather by Mitra Farmand via Dear Musketeer

Or do you just end up with soggy icing, feeling like you've ended up in MacArthur Park?

With cupcakes like these, you might not even notice it was raining...

Cupcakes with cupcakes on top - eep! These ones are from Baked Perfection

I love this colour combination, too (they're actually truffles, but they're so pretty I'll let them off)...

Cupcake truffles from The Family Kitchen

Or, for something (slightly) more understated, there are these sandwich cookies...

Banilla sandwich cookies by Bakers Royale

If I was going to eat cupcakes in the rain, this might be the perfect skirt to wear while I'm out there...

Twinkle Lights pencil skirt from Anthropologie

I think I'd wear it with a simple black top and black patent wellies. It's important to look glamorous when you're out in the rain eating a cupcake, after all.

It's hard not to feel cheerful surrounded by sprinkles (or sparkles). You might even feel like dancing...

Photo by diastema via weheartit

Dancing in the rain with a cupcake? Just perfect...

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Not Over The Rainbow Yet

A sure-fire way to crave a particular food more than ever is when you Just. Can’t. Have. It. Recent hankerings after viennoise au chocolat, crack pie, fondant fancies and (absurdly after all that sugar overload) diet Cherry Coke support this highly scientific allegation based on a gluttonous sample of one.

The difficulty in obtaining some (although by no means all) of the various things to eat that skitter distractedly across the bit of my brain that is permanently devoted to thoughts of food is their belonging to a particular place or a specific point in time. The power of food to transport you somewhere else is simply amazing.

When I came across this photo, it immediately made me think of food...

Photo via Satellite True

Probably not the reaction you’d expect from a picture like that! But it took me straight back to being a small girl in New Zealand, waiting with my dad for a Friday-night order of fish and chips to be ready. The takeaway shop had walls panelled with wood-printed laminate, and a tank of tropical fish that I never thought to connect with the coming meal. The fish – often shark – was thickly coated with batter that never seemed soggy in the middle and was extra-specially crunchy towards the head and the tail. And the chips were crispy and golden with fluffy middles and a generous sprinkling of salt, in the days before people worried about high blood pressure.

Sometimes, after the fish and chips, there might be the promise of a rainbow bar. Like a bigger, better version of a licorice allsort, rainbow bars were long and thin and came in packs of six, each a different colour. I was convinced the candy exteriors had distinguishable flavours, and whether they really did was maybe less important than your imagining it was true. I almost wonder whether I imagined the rainbow bars themselves, because when I went in search of them, they were nowhere to be found...

That’s a lot of memories to come from a brightly coloured piano. What’s the most unexpected thing you’ve come across that’s made you think of a particular food? I’d love to hear about it...

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Talking About Food Doesn't Have To Be Funny

When I first came to Australia, I wanted to fit in with all the desperation my ten-year-old heart could muster. I longed to fly under the radar after the “new girl” awkwardness had faded. But there were two things that stood in my way. The twin crimes of an English accent and an apparently precocious vocabulary marked me as that most un-Australian of things, “up myself”. I was frustrated and confused by it – I’d recently arrived from a small-ish town in New Zealand, where I’d never been singled out for being different, much less had it held against me.

What time had (mostly) dismissed as the ability of children of a certain age to go straight for the jugular came back to me earlier today. Sue Bennett’s article in the weekend Sydney Morning Herald transported me from sprawling on the couch with the weekend papers on my lap to standing in a playground in the height of summer with my words stuck in my throat.

Bennett takes a well-worn Blundstone to people who say foreign words with the accompanying accent when it isn’t native to themselves. Saying parmegiano instead of parmesan, for instance. Such pronunciation apparently amounts to pretentiousness of, if not the worst kind, at least a kind that can be safely lampooned from behind the pie stand.

The particularly blood-boiling example Bennett gives is when people apply an accent when all they’ve done is to live there. How dare they have the temerity to live in Italy for ten years and then come back here and talk about gelato instead of ice cream? Or have spent a decent length of time in France and be so bold as to not stumble when pronouncing hors d’oeuvres. And a friend who’s travelled widely in China and can hold their own ordering dim sum is a rare gift, and no cause for mockery.

When we travel abroad and try different foods in their countries of origin, efforts, however wobbly and unconvincing, to speak the local language almost always receive a kind reception. Why can’t we practice a little before we go without being sneered at? Why not show respect for another whose food you’ve had a lifelong love for by trying not to mangle the names of recipes and ingredients. The “poor ill-educated person out there” at the deli counter, patisserie or café who doesn’t know the word might not mind finding out what it is, as long as you don’t ram it down their throat.

Sure, there are some people with affectations to rival Hyacinth Bucket’s, who grasp at every misplaced opportunity to appear more sophisticated. And I’ll cheerfully laugh at that sort of thing through a mouthful of sausage roll. But the idea that simply using the right word for something, native pronunciation and all, makes you a snob is to sit in a Vegemite-smeared cave of ignorance.

On the multicultural platter that is Sydney’s food scene, should we have to ask for gnocchi, pho, dulce de leche or (gulp) gewürztraminer in broad ‘Strine? And where would Bennett have us draw the line? Should we all be calling a jus a juice or lumping it in alongside lumpy gravy? And there’s the never-ending macaron versus macaroon debate that’s been bubbling away ever since we discovered those delectably impossible confections. How presumptuous of us to lay claim to these foods with names that make us feel more comfortable. If all we want is comfort, why not stay at home with cheese on toast. As long as it isn’t groo-yeah, that is. Better just have a couple of slices of good old Bega tasty.

We want to embrace the ever-increasing variety of delicious food that’s available here, as long as it fits in and we don’t have to use any funny words. If we applied that sort of logic to people, there’d be an uproar. Oh, hang on…

But if you say tomato on toast and I say bruschetta, does it really matter? If we can eat better, travel more, and revel in the opportunity to enjoy everything that other parts of the world have to offer, getting caught up in the semantics seems a petty schoolyard relic. Some of us, though, are left with the memory of a choked up feeling that didn’t have words, as though a piece of prosciutto had gone down the wrong way.

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A Life Half Lived - Breakfast Discoveries

Ok, it might be a little far fetched to suggest that life is only half-lived* before discovering a particular food. But it's cheese**. And it tastes indulgent and satisfying, but is actually good for you. How did I survive *coughspluttercough* years without discovering the deliciousness of ricotta on toast.
It's slightly less healthy, I suspect, when served on toasted slices of golden brioche from Bourke Street Bakery for a weekend lunch. But it looks so much more appetising than the eaten-at-the-desk version that make a regular appearance on weekdays, sprinkled with cinnamon...

Brioche toast with ricotta (which really wasn't burnt round the edges - the lovely flaky golden brioche just doesn't come across in hasty photos)

Sitting beside the Other Penguin, who's eating a sausage roll, also makes your own lunch feel more nutritious...

Pork and fennel sausage roll (perhaps a little on the crispy side underneath, but still very tasty)

He has a better iPhone, too. Although photos are always a little dodgy when they're standing between a penguin and her lunch!

* Well, a type of cheese. Going this long without any cheese whatsoever is a terrifying thought...
** Maybe 10% less lived would be more accurate? Thinking about numbers definitely needs a good breakfast. And not thinking about numbers is greatly improved by one, too!

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Simple Things...

Some things can be so simple that you just take a deep breath of astonishment and wonder how on earth you never thought of them. And then you're just glad that they exist, wherever they came from...

Nutella fairy bread from Kidspot

I'm thinking of a slightly more grown-up version, with speculoos spread on slices of brioche and topped with dark chocolate hail. This needs to make the leap from delicious daydream to actual plate very soon!

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When It All Goes Pear-Shaped

Sometimes, despite your best intentions, baking is a thoroughly sticky business. It sticks to your fingers. It sticks to whisks, spatulas and wooden spoons alike (except when you flick them to try and remove it, and then it sticks to whatever it finds). It sticks, without careful application of baking paper, to cake tins (and occasionally, when the application of baking paper isn’t careful enough, it sticks to that as well). You get the sticky picture...

Not content with sticking to everything in its path, baking can also be very effective in sticking to itself. Carefully placed dollops of biscuit dough creep flatly across the tray, spreading into an amorphous mass. Huddled fluffy scones unite to be become the enormous beast that is The Mega Scone!

Much as it’s ultimately the taste that counts, removing a tray of conjoined cookies from the oven causes a pang of disappointment. It’s likely to be met with a sympathetic hug when offered round at home, hopefully followed by a surprised exclamation when it turns out to taste so much better than it looks. It’s not likely to draw a hungry horde if taken to work. And how on earth am I going to photograph it?

Don’t despair! Help is at hand with these brilliant plates that can make your baking hiccup look like you planned it all along...

Skyscraper plates by Maxime Ansiau, via Hovering Cat (although I bet they’re a nightmare to fit in the cupboard...)

But, if you don’t have the perfect plate to display your latest creation with pride, perhaps there’s another solution... Present it with a Picnic bar alongside, secure in the knowledge that it’ll look wonderful in comparison, and that delicious ugliness can be embraced as a rather unconventional distinction. 

At the risk of incurring the wrath of Matt Moran, is it better when these ugly ducklings of the baking world taste as questionable as they look and can be turfed unceremoniously onto the compost heap without mounting guilt at the very real problem of food wastage? Or that they’re a delicious mess to be treated not with disappointment but with tenderness and perseverance? What do you do with a recipe that doesn’t quite go according to plan?

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Real Men Eat Bacon

I’m convinced there are far, far fewer differences between men and women than popular opinion* would have us believe. But, before I clamber atop a soap-box that I happen to have prepared earlier, let me steer this pondering in a slightly less controversial direction for today... towards food.

While most of the men I know (and, certainly, the one I’m married to) don’t rate recieving flowers terribly all that highly on the list of preferred ways to be spoiled, these ones might go over quite a bit better with the gents and the ladies...

Bacon roses from Instructables

Would a rose by any other name smell as... salty?

If you want to capture that just-eaten-a-rose feeling but don’t have a bouquet handy, this might be the answer...

Bacon lip balm by J&D's (picture via Loft 965)

I’m a little divided on the lip balm, I must confess. To some, the very idea might be a bridge too far. But stashed in my handbag (in addition to a portmanteau and a medium-sized walrus**) are the following lip balms in the following flavours: Coca-Cola, chocolate (M&Ms, to be specific) and lemon-flavoured Skittles. Sweet tooth, much? While a slick of lip balm’s never going to triumph over a dollop of ganache, the availability of the former does seem to make it a little easier to resist over-indulgence in the latter. And yet, savoury lip balm just doesn’t seem quite right – I can’t shake the thought that it might just feel a little like the aftermath of a greasy fry-up for breakfast (perhaps that could make it a perfect hangover cure, though!). And it might be a not-entirely-welcome surprise for your significant other. Unless they’re the type to send you bacon...

P.S. It might be untoward to end without an honourable mention to Chocolatesuze, whose husband took over her blog to contemplate sending pizza on Valentine’s day instead of flowers. If you can’t have a bunch of irises, thin and crispy cheesy goodness might be an admirable alternative, I think!

* And by popular opinion, I might be focusing entirely too much on the tattle rags. 

** By all means laugh, but they’re very handy to hide behind in a crisis or a stiff breeze. And, if there isn’t a walrus in there, then what on earth is making it so damn heavy...?

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If I'd Known You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked A Cake

Do you have a jumpy Gah! They're HERE?! moment when visitors arrive? Whether they're genuinely unexpected, planned-but-semi-absent-mindedly-half-distracted-from-preparing-for, parents (in which case you can start getting sorted out a full two weeks in advance and still feel utterly caught on the hop), or just organised people running anything earlier than the fashionable 15 minutes late (in which case, please give lessons in how you manage it), I always seem to feel like I fell into a time warp and lost a seemingly-critical hour along the way. I suspect the only seemingly-critical thing is potentially the hostess - of herself...

Fiona Cairns Victoria sponge cake; picture by Jason Lowe via The Independent - this was a recent highly successful but sadly un-photographed expansion of the baking repertoire. Although mine replaced a whipped cream filling with a lemon and cream cheese frosting, as well as the traditional jammy middle. There will be a reprise (with camera) as soon as a halfway decent excuse (or, failing that, a little more time) presents itself...

Much as the thought of being Martha Stewart-esque kitchen queen who throws together an exquisitely measured shindig without a hair or a dribble of gravy out of place, there's the resounding feeling that it's so much more welcoming, fun and sanity-preserving to be a domestic goddess Nigella-style. To be found in your natural habitat with unruly hair, wafts of promise escaping from a clutter of saucepans and licking the wooden spoon. And to smile, secure in the knowledge that the important bits will all somehow come together once the important people have done the same.

P.S. The title of this post might belie (and oh, how that word looks wrong however I attempt to spell it...) the likely eventuality that I will have baked a cake (or, even more probably, brownies) regardless of even the unlikeliest of visitors or any vaguely tenuous justification.

P.P.S. And for anybody who knows me in real life, this post isn't intended in the slightest as a deterrent from bringing yourselves round, or as a plea to arrive four hours late so I can finish running, chicken-like, about (as that may lead to Gah! They're not coming! and subsequent arrival being met with a pjyama clad appearance). It's just a small musing on the peccadilloes of penguins...

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Ice Cream Is Always The Answer

The Tower of Pisa is leaning because the world is really a giant bowl of gelato, which tends not to be the most stable of foundations. Which explains both its elemental appeal (the gelato, I mean, not the tower) and the reason global warming is such a problem.

Photo by lightmatter (Aaron Logan) on Flickr

And if the world is just the bowl, I'd love to know what else is lurking in that freezer...

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Finding Your Inner Bree - With Brie

I sometimes joke that baking my way of embracing my inner Bree Van De Kamp. Mostly in the sense of domestic goddess with a fabulous line in acerbic understatement. Occasionally for qualities somewhat less noble, but equally compelling. And conveniently overlooking the rabid perfectionist / impossibly repressed / reformed alcoholic elements. I also rather envy her astonishingly well-behaved hair (although it may be immaculate simply from blind fear of what will happen should it dare defy her, combined with either an iron will or a straightening iron).

Alas, my culinary ventures tend to leave me resembling nothing quite so much as a flour-sprinkled haystack. And much as waking up to the smell of cinnamon sounds appealing when it's in the form of warm sticky rolls with cream cheese icing, it's less fun when you realise that it's just... you. Apparently making a vast batch of spiced marzipan cookies and speculaas blondies the evening before take their toll.

So I think it's time for the world to follow this lead and embrace the joy of being a little unkempt...

Print by funnelcloud

And if that's just too hard, this advice is likely to be much easier to follow...

Print by funnelcloud

A recent article in The Punch on retro food brought back (to me and numerous others) the joys of the seventies classic, the fondue. And, with cooler weather on the horizon, perhaps this might be the best way to get more cheese into your life...

Cheese fondue from Sippity Sup

So, would you prefer perfect hair, or more cheese? Or is it greedy to hanker after both...?

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Food With Bite - A Banana Blog

There's nothing like scarcity to increase appeal. Bananas are usually, if not quite literally a dime a dozen, at least sufficiently plentiful and cheap as to seem a little pedestrian, especially when there are berries and stone fruit to be had. Now they're up at well over $10 a kilo, suddenly there are all sorts of banana recipes I want to try, and buying bananas to let them go squishy and stick them into recipes seems a little extravagant (in an impractical-yet-mundane way, rather than a purple handbag sort of way).

Which means that delicious possibilities like banana bread ice cream will just have to wait a bit longer...

Banana bread ice cream with peanut butter and stracciatella from Guilty Kitchen

There's also a banana upside down cake by David Lebovitz which is also calling my name loudly from a lurking corner of the kitchen. And as soon as I went hunting for the link to it, another one (with mocha frosting and caramelised peanuts) was added to an ever-growing list. Oh, how I need to christen that lovely shiny new copy of Ready for Dessert...

Bananas might have become such an indulgence that they're not going to put on stripy PJs for less than $10,000 a day. Maybe it's time for a new approach...

Piranhas in Pyjamas!

Whether it's the perfect solution to get kids to eat more fish, or a way to make the naughty corner seem like a pile of cupcakes and rainbows, I can't quite decide. Although either mightn't be a bad thing...

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Stick In The Mud

My theory about serving tiny plates of tiny food is that it’s a bit like pouring sand into a jar of pebbles – the sand fills in every last gap because the grains are so small. Yum cha is perhaps the most extreme example... those small, innocent dumplings in harmless little bamboo steamers collectively result in a certain need for a wheelbarrow to be carted out in (perhaps the steamers of pork buns, tarts, noodles, polar bear balls and all sorts of other things play a contributing role as well, but I mostly blame the dumplings. There always needs to be a scapegoat). Tapas can produce a similar (but usually marginally lesser) level of gluttony – I’m sure this is why small plate eating is so in vogue – while it’s also about the enjoyment of sharing food with your friends and the ability to graze across a range of tastes, perhaps the commercial imperative of how much gets eaten plays a part as well.

Could you resist all those enticing little morsels? Yum cha photo by Edwina Pickles for The Age

Whoever came up with that diet tip of “eat everything off a tea plate and you’ll eat so much less food” has obviously never been to yum cha. Or, for that matter, to afternoon tea...

But you can do away with the little plates entirely, and still have the same effect. And this is where little bites on a stick come in...

It could be baked Alaska...

Baked Alaska on a stick via Cupcakes and Cutlery

It could be cheese (it could always be cheese)...

Cheese (with crispy bacon) on a stick from The Kitchn

There are plenty of pops on sticks, but pop tarts? Homemade pop tarts? Yum...

Pop tarts on a stick from Family Kitchen

Just because it's a drink doesn't mean it can't go on a stick...

Hot chocolate on a stick from Giver's Log

Even salad's more fun on a stick!

Salad on a stick from parents.com

Almost everything acquires just a little more novelty when served on a stick! And that's before you get to things that are supposed to be served on a stick. Easter's not too far away, which means it's nearly the season for battered sausages and fairy floss (or, for the less gluttonous or adventurous, sweetcorn). Just as long as it's not a stormy petrel on a stick.

In Japan, there's a whole group of food-on-sticks in the form of dango. If yum cha is trouble, just imagine dumplings that come on a stick...

Dango via The Anime Blog

Closer to home, and a whole lot more appealing than a sausage on a stick, Primrose Bakeshop sells cupcakes on a stick at Paddington Markets. Get ready for a new sort of stick-y penguin!

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Harrumph! Tweet! Yum! Eating Those Angry Birds

A confession: I had no idea what angry birds were until I saw them on a cake. And then I got curious, and googled. And dowloaded. And played. And discovered a new and addictive form of procrastination. And then (when the iPhone battery went flat) I discovered just how much food out there was inspired by those cranky featherballs.

There are bento boxes...

Angry Birds bento box from My Meal Box

And cheeses...

Angry Bird Babybel from Cute Food For Kids (who has a round-up of other grumpy eats, too)

And lots...

Angry Birds cupcakes from Aunty Yochana

And lots...

Angry Birds cake from Copacabanya (Anya Richardson) (via Fonatic71)

Of cakes...

Angry Birds tiered cake by Laura Finlay for That Takes The Cake! (via Snarkygurl)

There's even a playable version...

Angry Birds cake (before and after) from Electric Pig. Now that's a combination of form and function!

And the pigs don't get off scot-free either...

Angry Birds pork rinds (because it always comes back to bacon) from Think Geek

And Banksy's, well, been Banksy-ed by the angry birds, too (not just the polka dots!)...

"Angry Birdsky" by Brandon Ortwein (via Design Fetish)

What's going to be next - Skyburgers? Maybe after all the kerfuffle in the media about the KFC Double Down it's just a matter of time...

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Having Your Cake And Drinking It Too

In Italy, the hot chocolate can be so thick that a spoon just about stands upright by itself*. So when I first came across this hot chocolate, I had to look twice to decide whether you eat it or drink it...

Hot chocolate cake via Girly Bubble

Its simplicity seems to make it all the more convincing. Although I'm not necessarily a fan of a hulking great mouthful of fondant (unless it's home made, in which case a penguin in a china shop could be something to be reckoned with...).

For those who prefer their crockery to be a little more permanent, but still in close proximity to a hot chocolate (or just a steaming mug of something less sticky and more caffeinated), this could be an option...

Dunk Mug by Dominic Skinner, available from Mocha (via Fashionotes)

It even comes in a left handed version (so as to not drop the biscuits promptly into your lap!) and (would you believe it) polka dots (they're everywhere...).

How do you like to combine your drinks and snacks? Do you have a favourite sort of hot chocolate?

* Meaning that almost all hot chocolates that come after are too watery, too milky, too much like drinking the washing-up water or just not Italian. Better to have loved and lost...

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A Balancing Act

Equibbleibrium – the ongoing debate about where a level of balance is achieved

If I hold bowl of fruit in one hand, and a plate of chocolate cake in the other, do I reach equilibrium? Perhaps if I stand on one leg, lean hard to the left, have a five kilogram apple and a delicate morsel of cake, there’s a chance. But that would just look utterly silly*, and not be terribly much fun, either.

Picture from The Kitchn

It’s all a question of balance, really... Which gets me thinking about the concept of “work/life balance”, a term I particularly despise. It suggests all the other aspects of existence can be lumped haphazardly into one jumbled bucket (you don’t hear much about work/sleep/baking/studying/dancing/rabbitting-on-the-phone/gallivanting-round-Paris balance. Much as it might be far more realistic, and sound a bit more fun too). It suggests that work isn’t life which, for lots of people, is inaccurate and even just plain presumptuous. It’s almost always a euphemism for work/family, with a presumption that people that don’t have family responsibilities don’t do anything else besides work. Insert indignant and slightly self-righteous Harrumph! Right here beside the soap box, thanks.

So is it the apple or the chocolate cake that represents work? One makes you feel better for eating it, but, while satisfying, isn’t always what you crave. The other can be the stuff of daydreams, but might not live up to expectation and can leave you feeling lethargic after too much at once. It could go either way**. Perhaps that’s why it’s so important to have your cake and eat your apple, too...

* And is making me come over all Monty Python and think about standing on one leg and singing Jerusalem. What on earth do flamingos get up to, given they spend almost all their time on one leg? Perhaps they joke about acting funny when they’re on both legs...
** It feels a little like the food version of a Rorschach test. Now, what do you think of when you look at this brioche?

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Let Them What?

It doesn’t have the imperious and flippant ring to it of Let them eat cake!*. It’s perhaps more of a friendly exhortation, or an answer to what to serve at a relaxed dinner with friends while there are still long evenings left to enjoy. And maybe that’s what appeals about this little card**...

Print by Katydid Paper Goods (available on Etsy or from her very cute online emporium)

That, and it didn’t say Keep calm and have a pav! Which might have prompted an onset of the colliewobbles. As opposed to keeping calm and carrying a pavlova, which just can’t happen owing the the worry about it collapsing, or dropping it, or the cream slithering off in the humidity, or some other such catastrophe.

Although letting them eat pavlova isn’t necessarily the issue – stopping them eating pavlova might be more of a challenge. It’s the cold, quiet hours when it lurks unattended in the fridge when danger is most likely...

* Even if that wasn’t really what Marie Antoinette said in the first place, which is pretty much beside the point by now...
** I wonder, though, what the appropriate occasion is for such a greeting? Or if it's for gluttonous typophiles (moi?!) to pin on their noticeboards.

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When I Am An Old Woman I Will Eat Purple

My mum and I used to joke about becoming an ascerbic old woman who said whatever she pleased and prodded recalcitrant young whippersnappers with a silved-topped cane*. It sounded quite fun (although not as much fun as hooning about on a quad bike!). I like the thought that the (hoped-for) wisdom of years frees us to be more eccentric, rather than growing fusty and conservative.

Then I came across a poem by Jenny Joseph, called Warning (but better known as When I am an Old Woman). It was in a little book sitting on the counter (where much of the whimsical, distracting and just plain silly reading material tends to be), and when I flicked through it, I didn’t realise just how much of a following the poem already had. If you’d like to read more of it, there’s an online version of it here.

When I am an Old Woman cupcake from Abbie Tabbie

I already wear copious quantities of purple althought very much doubt that (old or otherwise) hats (red or otherwise) will form a regular (or anything but reluctant) part of my sartorial repertoire. But eating purple? That could be an interesting thing to consider...

 

Lavender macarons with honey dark chocolate ganache from The Ginger Cook 

Purple sweet potato pie with easy oats crust from Foodiva

Meyer lemon and blueberry curd from Sunday Hotpants

Purple pizza from The Cooking Photographer

Plum ice cream from Pink Parsley

Beni Imo Dango (deep fried sweet potato dango) from The Sugar Bar

Festive devilled eggs from Eating Out Loud

Ube mochi cake from Une-Deux Senses

 

Blueberry cardamom cheesecake from G Living

Whether it comes from okinawa potatoes, berries, beets, violets or ube, there's a lot of purple potential out there!

Matching purple with brownies is my kind of combination...

 Baker's one-bowl brownies from A La Carté Kitchen, photo by Joe Longo Photography

But I think I would like to wear more purple right now, just as the poem suggests. Eccentricity is wasted on the old!

* Preferably adorned with an obscure animal, and even more preferably carried only for show and not necessity.

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