I think I just about, finally feel at home.
Partly because I’ve got my head around getting to work, I have been texted on my Australian number by another Australian and I now know the answer to the age old question: “Savings, cheque or credit” at the till.
But also because I finally got round to baking something.
I’ve had a strange relationship with my baking of late.
Working in a cake shop is quite intimidating for the amateur baker: I’m surrounded all day by stunning cakes and perfect patisserie, I never know if my baking will live up to the cakes in the shop and I don’t want people to politely chew through a crap cupcake on my behalf.
I’ve avoided baking.
The occasional foray back into the baking battlefield, but for the most part I’ve left it to ‘the professionals’.
The same was true when I got to Australia.
Normally the first thing I’d do would be to suss out how I was going to spend the next six months of my life baking without all my usual tools and ingredients, but I’ve been putting it off, worried that my flatmates would be disappointed, that the oven wouldn’t work, that my brownies aren’t actually that great and everyone has just been politely seeing them down with a glass of milk to get rid of the taste.
All entirely ridiculous.
I’m not being too up myself when I say that my brownies are kind of my thing.
A very good friend of mine once justified putting up with me solely because of my brownies, through a mouthful of triple chocolate delight as he handed pieces round to his friends.
I know my recipe by heart, I can usually judge if I’ve got it right on sight, so I don’t have to worry too much about converting the measurements and it’s a fail safe with new mouths – who doesn’t like brownies?
There was still a bit of trepidation as I took the chocolatey treats out of the oven (new ovens are always tricky on the first bake: will they over cook or under cook, are they fast or slow, will the middle still be raw while the outsides burn), but from the reaction of my 735 girls, I needn’t have worried.
Louisa immediately went for a glass of milk – which I’ve learnt is a good thing where brownies are concerned and Lydia squealed they were ‘Like the restaurant ones’, lamenting for a scoop of ice cream to have with it before realising Cam had treated us to an industrial sized tub of Neapolitan ice cream.
Just got to wait for the boys to find out if it’s a full house.
I might even take some in to work.