Golden scrumptiousness

After the abysmal failure of my last three attempts at biscuit baking, I admit I was not a little worried when Mum said last night “will you make some ANZAC cookies for me tomorrow?”

This afternoon, after having come around to consciousness at around 2pm (after having been awake between 4 and 8am this morning), I ventured into the kitchen and cracked open the recipe book. Seeing the fairly self-evident potential for disaster, mayhem and general culinary unpleasantness as vivid as the ominous shadow of a plague of locusts on the horizon, I decided perhaps ANZAC cookies, or cookies of any type for that matter, were probably not the best course of action. I flipped through the book and found a few cakes I liked the sound of, all of which were rendered utterly un-makable by an acute egg-shortage that gripped house. Then I stumbled on the proverbial gold nugget amongst a sea of silt: honeycomb. Mum loves honeycomb, I love honeycomb, I was in possession of all the ingredients and the recipe seemed simple enough to follow (although I wasn’t going to admit this to the recipe because that would be tempting fate and we all know what happens when I get arrogant in the kitchen). It turned out in the end to be simple enough to make, if a little idiosyncratic.

It’s probably worth mentioning that children with loose teeth or anyone with loose fillings shouldn’t indulge in this scrumptious golden treat. The honeycomb, while delicious, will probably not be viewed kindly by your dentist, or by the one paying your dental bills.