Aww, look what happens when you crack open a walnut with a hammer, gently, along the splitty-bit between the two halves of shell? You get some lovin’. I do not consider myself a walnut lover, in that I do not derive a great deal of pleasure from eating walnuts on their own repeatedly. I will sample one and then decide to make afghans. I love afghans. And more importantly, I love eating walnuts when they are on afghans. I do not have time for you if you are going to say you like afghans but you don’t like walnuts. Afghans are not afghans if you pick off the walnut. Please leave this blog now.
I don’t need to tell you where I got the recipe from. Except to say that it is very similar to a Lois Daish one I cut out of the Listener a few years back and shares the same ethos that afghans should be little, not as large as the plate they’re served on (Midnite Espresso… I’m looking pointedly at YOU). I got so enthusiastic that I even let food within a few inches of the precious cookbook risking (the horror!) a splash of food.
(I know, cookbooks that have splashes of this and that on the best recipes are awesome. But this cookbook is too pretty for those kinds of shenanigans.)
Rata came home just as I was icing the last of the biscuits, and her grandmother gave her a taste (with my approval of course. The sugar-free-baby schtick went out the window when the three-times-daily-suspended-in-sugar-syrup-medicine came in) and it was gobbled up with what can only be described as downright greed. Here is said bebe eyeing up the rest of the batch.
They are small and perfectly formed, though a bit bigger than usual as I wanted to make them quickly. I trudged around town for my 2kg bag of Trade Aid organic fair trade cocoa as it is not worth cooking with any other kind of cocoa, full stop. And that, folks, was my Wednesday afternoon.