I’m in a right foul mood this morning, I give myself a yellow card.
I’m prone to throwing a tantrum first and then looking for the solution after. I always panic with lots of time to spare. Like when baking… I’m convinced that the entire time said pastry/tart/cake is in the oven (read: when I’m not in control of it anymore), something is wrong. It’s not brown enough, it hasn’t risen right, the oven’s not working properly. And then when it comes out of the oven golden and delicious as it should be, I then allow myself to breathe again.
Torture… pure torture, I tell you. I’m sure I was a sadist in another life.
It’s been a rocky start to the week. I hate the grown-up parts of life that involve banks, insurance, forms, and equally tedious tasks. Ugh. But one tedious task I’ll never shy away from is producing this glorious little thing.
Milk Tart makes it all better.
No, really. Try it. Crappy day? Have a slice. Boyfriend left you? Have the whole thing. Don’t even bother with slices. Grab a spoon and feed that hole!
I wish I had the recipe for you, but it’s pinned to my fridge door instead of my memory. It’s from the Fresh Living Classic Cook’s series. It’s not like your normal tuisnywerheid version; it has more of a baked custard texture. Very eg, as Ouma would say.
Screw the Kit-Kat… have some milk tart!