I Can't Believe I'm On One

I know it's been a long time since my last blog, but bear with me.  There's a valid reason for that.  Husband and I have been on... well, let me spell it, as I shudder to say it.  D.  I.  E.  T.  I have been overweight since forever, and with Husband having found out his cholesterol is WAAAAAY to high, I decided to... THAT word, with him.  Unfortunately, by this afternoon I was having withdrawal symptoms from my kitchen.  Yes, I can get creative with food, and keeping Husband happy with dinner is difficult with the boring foods given on this... plan, however, I think I did quite well the last two weeks.

Back to the kitchen today, I have a love relationship with peanut butter.  If anyone out there has watched Little Britain, you might recall Marjorie Daws from Fat Fighters.  Her and cake, that's me and peanut butter.  And due to this love I decided on Peanut Butter Biscuits.  But as with many things, there is a story to this recipe.

I have not spoken much about my day at college, but one story I can share with regards to this recipe is the kitchen where I did one of my three practicals.  I'm not going to name the place, as that would be tacky, but rest assured, they are based in the Johannesburg area, not here in Cape Town.  First let me say, they had a few wonderful recipes.  I love the peanut butter biscuit recipe I got from there, and I still use their Millionaire Shortbread and Pears Poached in Red Wine recipes.  They even had a wonderful Triple Chocolate Cheesecake recipe, and a Dark Chocolate and Ginger Torte.  The only recipe that never worked for me was the Yoghurt Bread.

The problem came in whenever there was an event in the Banqueting Hall.  Normal day to day was fine, but with events, not so much.  Imagine getting ready to plate 150 starters for the guests.  Someone decides now is a good time to excuse themself from the table.  And s/he flushes the toilet.

The next minute you are ankle deep in shitty water, screaming at the waiters to keep the guests away from the kitchen, and frantically figuring out a way to pass the plates to the waiters outside the kitchen without the whole procedure looking strange, and not moving too fast for fear of the poo poo water sloshing over the door frame.

Never done it have you?  I have.  Twice.  Plating food ankle deep in poo poo water.  It really teaches you to breathe very shallow, and only when you really have to.  Now do you understand why I get iffy with kitchen cleanliness?