Rocky Road

I was in the middle of preparing a good old fashioned Jewish Friday night dinner - chicken soup with noodles, roast chicken, potato wedges -when I suddenly abandoned the lot and began making Rocky Road. I fished out a bag of mini marshmallows and chopped them up. I found small bags of almonds and macadamia nuts, roasted them and chopped them up. I melted dark and milk chocolate in separate bowls over gently simmering hot water. I stirred the marshmallow into the dark chocolate, and nuts into the milk. Spooned three lines of the milk chocolate mixture into a brownie tin. Filled the two lines in between with the dark. Swirled it a bit to create a marbled effect. Put in the fridge. And went back to my Friday night cooking. Not that the chicken was exactly functional cooking - husband away, one child on a sleepover, leaving just two of us in the house, the food was major overkill, but I baked for the textures and smells that are redolent of the weekend - but still, the compulsion to break off and create something as spurious as Rocky Road was a need to rebel, depart from the plan, do something mischievous. Rocky Road. It is pregnant with endless metaphor. It sums up perfectly what it is like to cycle in London. As a phrase it pretty much encapsulates my entire daily experience -navigating between commute, work, parent/teacher conferences, homework, domestic chores and family health issues, on good days with focus and well organised ease born of years of practice, on bad days a collision course of bumps and obstacles. Hm. Maybe not such a spurious choice after all. Baking that represents your daily experience. Makes perfect sense. To an obsessive foodie addicted to eclectic baking.