Well fuck

Well I don’t know about you fuckers but I’m snowed the fuck in.

As luck would fucking have it, I have barely any baking supplies; so you know chances of me baking and writing are slim to none (largely due to me not wanting to risk life and limb walking down the ‘footpath of death’ that leads from my village to town) (seriously people have died down there)

If I can get my shit together then I’ll be making a salted chocolate tart. If not then you will just have to wait a day or two.


Cunting Chocolate Roulade

I was going to launch into a massive moaning session about how a colleague suggested baking a fucking chocolate roulade, but I have been lazy as fuck recently so I suppose it is time for me to actually put in more than 10% effort.

I didn’t even know what a bloody ‘roulade’ was until, just as luck would have it, I was watching TV today before starting the bake and up popped Paul ‘traitorous bastard’ Hollywood, making a fucking roulade! However that was still about as useless as a marzipan dildo so I did have to do some research.

I figured, to really stick the finger to the blue-eyed prick, I’d use a Mary Berry recipe, vs one from Leiths.com (whatever the fuck that is). As is tradition, Ol’ Bezza goes first.


Marry Motherfucking Berry


I was pleasantly surprised when I read the ingredients, as I found I only needed 6 fucking ingredients! Sweet as fuck. I already had most of them anyway so it was only a short trip to the shops for the chocolate. I sorted my shit out as I am one organised bitch, and preheated the Fucking Incinerator™. I threw some caution to the wind and kept it on the recommended temperature this week, just to see what would happen….I was obviously having some sort of fucking seizure because that was a stupid fucking idea. Anyway.


First step: Melt the chocolate chunks the ‘proper’ way….nope. In the fucking microwave ya brown bastards. After they were properly melted, I left them to the side to cool. In the meantime, I separated the eggs. I am not any fucking good at this sort of finicky shit, like I literally cannot crack an egg without shell getting all over the place. I also don’t have any sort of tool for the process of separation, so I had to use my bare hands. Ugh. I just about managed, and the yellow and white components were separated (I was going to make a Vietnam war joke but I feel like if my employer was wholk1ever to find this blog I might lose my job). I then whisked the yolks with the sugar until the mix was as pale and creamy as an anaemic girl that just moisturised, then whipped up the egg whites. I hate doing this, it’s such a boring process. Eventually, I had three prepared bowls of ingredients: melted chocolate, meringue, and sholk (my new word for sugar and yolks, clever, I fucking know). I poured the chocolate into the sholk and stirred it like a 14 year old girl stirs shit with her peers. I then mixed in a little of the egg whites, to loosen up this mix….which did not fucking work. The chocolatey mix was as thick as Hilary Duff is these days. Just trying to mix it was a nightmare. I dumped in the rest of the egg whites and tried my best to fold the shit together, but that too was a twat of a job. Finally, I had some crappy, jiggly, brown gunk (the food version of in tray1Snooki). I poured it into my newly acquired baking tray that I had previously greased and lined, and threw it into the incinerator for 20 mins. Whilst the party was kicking off in the oven, I whipped up the cream. As always, I added just a pinch of milk powder to stabilise it.

20 minutes later, the familiar smell of burning wafted through the house. I removed the tray, once I had fought through the fucking smog, and left it on the side to chill. It didn’t actually look as bad as I thought it would, but it was definitely crispy. Honestly, I had no rolled1fucking idea what it should have looked like. An hour or so later, I figured it was probably cool enough to start rolling, so I spread on the cream, dusted the paper with icing sugar, and held my breath. I have made my own sushi a few times so the process of rolling it was not unfamiliar to me, but sushi doesn’t fucking crumble at the slightest touch. I did my absolute best, rolling as it continued to fall apart. Mary bitching Berry claims that if it cracks, it means it’s a good roulade, so mine must be fucking award winning. I wrapped it tight in some baking paper and threw it in the fridge.



This was all very much the shame shit, but one less egg and the addition of instant coffee. I melted the chocolate with the water and coffee, which I thought was a risky move. Anyone who has had anything to do with an amateur chocolate fondue knows that melted chocolate and water don’t always mix well…..or at all. Things did look….nasty…..halfway through, but once I cracked the whisk out things definitely smoothed out.

I went through the painstaking task of separating the eggs, thankful that this time there were only 5 of them. I whisked everything that needed whisking, and was left with a meringue mix and some sholk. I poured the shol;k2chocolate into the latter, thinking that this was going to turn out worse than Bezza’s, because the chocolate mix was definitely thicker. Things seemed pretty similar, so I stirred in a spoonful of the egg whites and the mix actually loosened up as quickly as a white girl drinking sparking rosé on a night out, celebrating her finally getting rid of ‘that bastard’. I folded in the rest of the egg whites and things were certainly more runny, so I had more hope. I poured this into my tray, again greased and lined, and threw it into the incinerator for 15mins.

The smell of burning yet again filled the air, but I don’t even flinch anymore. I sauntered, like the suave motherfucker I am, into the chocole2actualkitchen and opened the door. The skin melted from my facial bones. Shit was fucking smokey in there. The cake was certainly more singed than Mary’s, but it somehow looked far less crispy in general? Fuck off, I know what I mean.

After another hour, the cake was cool enough for me to spread the cream on and I mustered up the courage for another rolling session. I hate fucking rolling. However, as this sponge was far more cakey and moist, it rolled far easier. It did crack here and there, but no where near as badly as Mary’s log did.

rolled2I tightly bound it and put it in the fridge for a bit to firm up, and made dinner in the meantime. I can make a fucking delicious chinese inspired dish, honey and chilli fried chicken on rice, so I treated myself to that.

The time had come – I cut a slice from each roll.


The Comparison


You can see quite clearly how Mary’s is far paler and more fucked up looking. Leith’s definitely looks more rich, moist, and has a better swirl. It was also, not shockingly, far fucking easier to cut. Mary’s fell apart at the slightest pressure (that white girl drinking rosé being confronted by the sight of her ex out enjoying himself).


However, Mary’s did actually taste really chocolatey. Not as much so as Leith’s but still not fucking bad.

Taste Tester Lee Perkins gave me invaluable feeedback….”they’re alright”. Did I honestly go through the trauma of all that rolling for that?? His favourite was Leith’s, and guessed which roll belonged to who correctly; because (in his words) I always fuck up the professional recipe. Cheers.


My favourite was also Leiths’ but only by a small margin. Both of them tasted fucking awesome, but Leiths’ was just the touch more cakey than crispy. It was also far more attractive and less crumbly.

Unfortunately for the girls at work, I don’t think I’m able to transport Mary’s roulade for fear of it falling apart, and I’m certainly not sacrificing Leiths’ log by taking it to work and watching it disappear in 4 minutes….so I’ll be keeping both of them this week 🙂 let that be a fucking lesson to you Phip, if you ask for something tricky, it might not make it to work (I will compensate you with a cupcake or some shit).

The Ratings

Mary ‘mothafucka’ Berry

  • Difficulty: 8/10 (due to the separating and rolling)
  • Presentation: 3/10 (yeah)
  • Taste: 8/10 (if only it was slightly more moist)


  • Difficulty: 6/10 (slightly easier to roll, still not for beginners)
  • Presentation: 8/10 (far more impressive, but the icing sugar sort of melted into the cake)
  • Taste: 9/10 (pretty fucking good)

The Final Word


Actually listen to the song if you haven’t heard it before, Oasis were far more than just ‘Wonderwall’















Cinnamon Rolls

Right motherfuckers, post time.

As we all know, the last weekend of the month means something foreign, and after last months disastrous Pumpkin Pissing Pie…fuck, I thought I’d redeem myself and attempt another yank recipe. However, cinnamon rolls/buns/swirls apparently originate from either Sweden or Denmark, so you can’t accuse me of not being diverse enough.

The amateur recipe comes from jocooks.com, and the professional from the foodnetwork website, authored by Paula Deen.



The first fucking issue I ran into with this bake was finding the fucking yeast. The Sainsbury’s in my town honestly carries jackshit, so I had to drive to a neighbouring town and search through Aldi of all bloody places. Eventually I found some, paid what I considered an extortionate amount of money for something purchased at Aldi, and drove home to actually begin this friggin process.

I warmed the milk and dissolved the yeast in it, and set it aside for 5mins whilst I mixed the butter, sugar, salt, flour, and eggs together. This was not fucking easy. I am yet to acquire a stand alone mixer with a dough dough1hook attachment, so I fucked my whisks up trying to blend it before giving up and resorting to mashing it together with my hands. Despite destroying my nails doing this, I did end up with a decent looking ball of dough. I dumped it into an oiled bowl, covered it, and threw it into our utility room where the tumble dryer was on (hence a nice warm atmosphere) for it to rise.

After an hour, I returned to discover….it had barely increased in size at all. I left it another half an hour before giving up and saying ‘fuck it’ to myself. I hooked the fucking thing out of the bowl, slapped it down onto rectangle1my floured surface, and rolled it with the dexterity of Snoop Dogg rolling a spliff into the nearest shape to a fucking rectangle I possibly could. I felt it wasn’t a bad attempt.

I combined all the ingredients needed for the filling (cinammon, sugar, and butter) and spread it across the…shape…of dough. I then rolled the fucker up, leading on the long edge. I had a fucked up log of dough, which I proceeded to cut into discs. Fucked up discs. This bake wasn’t really going my way but I am no fucking dough expert so I wasn’t shocked. I placed the discs into my baking tray (which was far too big) and let them rise for another hour or so.


Finally, like 3 fucking hours into this process, shit was ready to get cooking. I preheated the Fucking Incinerator™, but this time round I threw caution to the fucking wind and stuck it on the temperature that the recipe asked for, rather than 10-20 degrees cooler to prevent my bakes turning into charcoal.

I threw in the tray, which now contained large, fluffy pucks of dough, and prayed. (lol did I fuck, at this point I put my earphones in and pretend like nothing is burning)

result1I did check on the buns early, and they were indeed a lot cunting browning than I’d have liked. Whatever. I stirred up the glaze, which took no time at all, and dumped the shit on top. It certainly didn’t seem like enough glaze, but I’m past caring.

Paula Deen


I had the common fucking sense to start this recipe whilst Jo’s dough was proofing, so I washed out all my utensils and tried to dig out my whisks from the 4 inches of dough they were caked in.

This was all very much the same shit, however I had to dissolve the yeast in water rather than milk. I blitzed all the other ingredients together. Having learnt from my previous mistake of trying to whisk the dough, this time I opted to stick my hands in there and have a dough2good feel around. I kneaded the dough into something that looked akin to what Paul ‘Bastard’ Hollywood might produce. Same bollocks, different recipe – let it rise for an hour, then roll it into a ‘rectangle’. I made a much better attempt this time, and rolled it into a much larger shape- it was certainly of a more consistent thickness all over. I brushed the melted butter over it and sprinkled on the cinnamon and sugar. I fucking loaded that shit on, I’d snort cinnamon if I could. I rolled it into a log in the same fashion, this time it rectangle2looked far more uniformed and much longer, which is always a bonus. I sliced this log and arranged the slices into another baking tray (again, it seemed far too big, but I only have a limited supply of equipment at my disposal). I left these discs to rise in a warm place, and in the meantime I cracked open a bottle of vodka rosé and indulged myself in several one glass. Upon returning to the tray of baked goods, I was actually pleasantly surprised to see that shit had puffed up nicely.

I threw the fuckers into the oven and stumbled back into my boudoir where I continued to drown my fucking sorrows. I checked on the twats early and saw they were of perfect colour, and

vomited out of excitement 🙂

I whisked up the glaze for these buns and poured it all over, fucking pearl necklaced that shit. I was proper happy and the result of these buns compared with Jo’s. I served two warm rolls up to taste tester Lee.

The Comparison

The first obvious difference between the two of these rolls is the way they look. Jo’s are big, brown, and flat; whereas Paula’s are golden and uniformed in shape.

Left: JoCooks, right: Paula Deen

I felt like Jo’s did taste more cinnamon-y, however they were more crunchy than they were soft. Lee agreed with me that Paula’s were certainly more moist and less strong in flavour, but still nice. Overall, his favourite was Jo’s, whereas mine was Paula’s. At the end of the day, both fucking rolls were decent and I would happily demolish a whole batch when pissed (which is certaioenl;y note  what I’vee done thiss  evening)

The Ratings


  • Difficulty: 6/10 – making the dough is the hardest part
  • Presentation: 4/10 – imagine a deflated, fake tanned tit and that’s what they looked like
  • Taste: 7/10 – not bad, if they were less singed I imagine they’d be better

Paula deen

  • Difficulty: 6/10 – same issues
  • Presentation: 10/10 – quite frankly, these were the fucking bomb
  • Taste: 9/10 – could have had a stronger cinnamon taste

The Final Word













Coffee and Wanking Walnut Cake

Good evening. I know I keep saying sorry about posts being late but quite frankly I’ve realised how much easier it is for me to just do it on the fucking weekend rather than write 1/3 of it every day at work on my lunch break. So this is how it’s going down from now on, it will be your Saturday/Sunday night read.

I’ve now recovered from the fucking Pumpkin Pissing Pie…fuck disaster, my self esteem once again present following the praise I received at work for my Cunting Chocolate Cupcakes. Overall reviews were that they were ‘really nice’. I’ll take that.

One of the gyaldem at work wanted to throw in her two cents and tell me what I should bake this weekend, and proceeded to throw out 10 suggestions of things I’ve already covered. Eventually we got to this weeks bake: The Coffee and Walnut Cake. It’s not one of my favourites, but I feel like that’s the same for a lot of people.

The pro chef recipe I used came from Hugh Fearnley-whateverthefuckhisnameis, from his River Cottage website. The other came from The Huffington Post. The author of this recipe is someone called Holly Bell, who was apparently the runner up on the GBBO in 2011. So yeah, totally fucking obscure and not considered a pro.

Hugh Fearnley-whatever

ingers1I started with his recipe because why the fuck not. The ingredients needed were pretty simple, a standard sponge with the addition of coffee. I don’t really do coffee as I can’t consume caffeine without have what my brother calls a ‘special dance’, (fit) therefore I don’t have espresso powder or any fancy shit like that. What I did find in the back of the cupboard was a half full jar of Aldi coffee granules that I think I bought back from uni before I learned the seizure-samba. I knew the coffee was pretty grim when it was in date, mixc2so I couldn’t imagine how shite it would be a year later…but it was going in the fucking cake.

I beat the fuck into the butter, then added both types of sugar at once. After I had minced all of it to a pulp, I added the eggs one by one and beat well between each mix1.1addition. The fucking point of adding them slowly completely eludes me but I do try to follow the instructions as accurately as possible. I put on the kettle and measured out my coffee granules. I poured the boiling water on top and stirred like a motherfucker. What I expected was a thick, dark liquid with the odd granules at the bottom. What I got was something the consistency of diarrhoea…dark and gloopy with many thick, conglomerated masses floating in it. I had the common sense to pour it through a fine mesh sieve into the cake batter. After I blitzed it together, I had to fold *groan* the flour in and then stir in the chopped walnuts. The mix looked and smelt alright, but unlike normal I didn’t taste it. I did think that it didn’t seem to be enough batter to fill two cake tins, and I was right. The moulds weren’t even half full and the flour wasn’t self raising so I was worried that I would be greeted to two pancakes. I threw them into my preheated incinerator, on a slightly lower temperature than normal. I set the timer for 25mins, the minimum time specified on the recipe. I then proceeded to make the buttercream. Same shit, different glazeday: beat butter and icing sugar together. I added the coffee. All was good. I also had to make a fucking glaze of all cunting things. I have never seen a C&W cake with a glaze on but whatever. This was also easy – mix icing sugar and coffee together until a thick…glaze…comes together. I opened the fucking incinerator door when the timer rang, and was pleasantly surprised that I was’t greeted to a face full of fucking smoke. The cakes were done perfectly, and I wasn’t sure how to react. Normally the fire alarms are going off, you can’t see your own tits through the smog, and my bakes are at least singed round the edges. Not these motherfuckers! Sweet. Maybe I’m finally getting the hang of this shit. Once the cakes had cooled, I covered them in the icing and glaze and threw a handful of walnuts at it. I threw it in the fridge to chill out while I made the second cake.

The Huffington Post

ingres2Again, the same sort of shit. This time only one type of sugar necessary. I measured everything, and the process was basically the same. Cream the butter. Add the sugar. Slowly in with the eggs. Stir in the coffee. Fold in the flour and walnuts. What else can I say? I encountered no problems with these steps, nothing interesting of note whatesoever. I did have the same issue with the coffee but sieving the mix was definitely the answer.

I did notice that this recipe also didn’t yield all that much batter. The cake tins were yet again not even at 50% capacity. I didn’t lose hope, Hugh’s turned out fine despite the lack of batter.mix2

This recipe also needed the same oven temperature so I honestly have fuck all else to report – I made the buttercream in exactly the same way, but this recipe didn’t call for a glaze.

25mins later, the cakes were done – these ones were only very slightly singed on the edges but the damage was so minor I could just scrape it off. I did a similar thing yesterday when I drove my fucking car into a mix2.1muddy verge trying to avoid some prick that pulled out in front of me. The mud scraped off fine….revealing I was missing a fog light and the left hand side of my bumper was fucked, but the thing still moves and there aren’t any warning lights on the dashboard so I consider it a win.

I dolloped the icing on the cakes and threw more nuts at the fucker.

The Comparison


Lee has finally got the fucking message and is giving me helpful feedback on the cakes, something I actually really need this week as I’m unable to consume it myself. Overall, Hugh’s cake was drier but the coffee taste was certainly more prominent. The amount of walnuts was just right and it was his favourite of the two, despite him telling me it was ‘fugly’. The Huffington Post’s cake was prettier and a lot more moist but apparently the coffee taste was just an underlying hint of flavour. He did say it was still enjoyable, so perhaps it depends on how strong you like your coffee. He incorrectly guessed which cake was which which always makes me smirk 🙂

Left: Hugh, right: Huffington

The Ratings

Hugh Fucking-Whatevenishisname?

  • Difficulty: 5/10, only due to crap coffee
  • Presentation: 3/10 according to Lee
  • Taste: 8/10 (apparently)

Huffington Post

  • Difficulty: 3/10 – what more can I say?
  • Presentation: 7/10 – I certainly think it looked more appealing
  • Taste: 6/10 – we’ll just have to take his word for it.

The Final Word










































Cunting Chocolate Cupcakes

Good evening. Normally I’m not sorry if my post is late but this week I feel just a tiny bit guilty; not because I care about disappointing you, but because I pay to run this blog and I felt like I had let myself down a touch. I fell out of love with the fucking thing after how terribly the pumpkin pie went. As a great trainee lawyer has told me at work, “vegetables have no place in cakes” – Phip, 2017

Anyway, mushy shite over.

After the appalling mess of that fucking pie, I decided that last weekend I would do something that requires minimal effort and would yield something delicious. The answer? Chocolate cupcakes. Boom.

The easy amateur recipe I used came from KidSpot.com, entitled ‘Quick Chocolate Cupcakes’….unless these fuckers take 5 mins prep and 10 mins in the oven, it’s not quick enough. The pro recipe came from Martha motherfucking Stewart.

excuse the shite quality of this image



I preheated the Fucking Incinerator™ and lined my tray with cupcake cases. I don’t have an actual cupcake/muffin tray,  so I had to use this odd tray that normally lives in the deep abyss of darkness of the tray/pan/pot cupboard. It has…hole thingies….to put the cases but they aren’t deep like a regular tray and they have a leaf…indent thingies…in each hole.

Now, this fucking shit was proper easy. Beat the fuck into the butter and sugar, add the eggs, and once I had a creamy, diabetes inducing mix, I added the dry ingredients and milk. I then added just under

mix22tbsp of the mix into each of the twelve cases and threw it into the FI. The recipe told  me each case would be 1/3 full, but after using all the mix each case was 2/3 full. Had I had another cupcake tray, perhaps I would have spread the mix out a bit more but whatever.

I mean, what else can I say? I didn’t even sift the fucking flour. I could never convey just how fucked off I was over the pumpkin pie, and I really did need something that required fuck all energy to bake and then write about.


Whilst the cunts were baking, I made the buttercream. Easy shit again, channel my inner Chris Brown and beat the fuck into the sexy brown mix until icing has formed. I have learned from watching a bitch on youtube that you really need to beat buttercream for at least 5 minutes to get it fluffy as fuck and as pale as an anorexic teenage girl who also suffers from anaemia.

I checked on the chocolatey bastards 5 mins early and they seemed perfectly done, so I took them out and let them cool, leaving the buttercream covered in clingfilm and in the fridge. In the mean time, I cracked on with Martha’s recipe.

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Martha Stewart

ingres3The first issue I encountered with this recipe was converting the recipe from the ridiculous measurements that the yanks use to our easier and logical measurements over here. This took a bit of research as different websites say different things, but I couldn’t really be that fucked to gain a mean figure from 5 various sites, and just used the figure from the 2nd website I found.


After I figured out what was what, I removed the KidSpot cupcakes from the tray and re-lined it with 12 cases. I then sifted the dry shit into a bowl and then creamed the other shit together in another bowl. This fucking recipe asked for sour cream, which I thought might be a bad omen as previous experience has shown me that the results don’t seem to be improved by the addition of sour cream (Fudge me, baby).

I spooned the batter into the cases and hurled the tray into the FI. I did the same shit, check on them early mix 1.4and made sure they were cooked through. These cupcakes took the full 25mins, but they weren’t burnt which is a vast improvement to what I’m normally greeted to when I look in the oven.

The second issue I faced was only minor, but the recipe didn’t include instructions for an icing. Instead, the website linked me to a separate recipe. I then had to convert all the fucking measurements again but I got there eventually and blitzed the shit together. I fucking hate making icing because I always end up coating every shitting inch of the kitchen in icing sugar. I left the cupcakes to cool and placed the icing aside, and then got KidSpot’s icing out and spread it onto the cakes. There wasn’t a crazy amount of icing to really get a good intray1swirl on each one, so I spooned it on top  instead and smoothed it out with a knife. I then sifted a touch of icing sugar over the top and a couple of white sugar mini star sprinkle things. You could definitely tell that this recipe came from a kids website, because they looked like a fucking 7 year old made them.

After Martha’s had cooled, I was able to pipe the icing on as there was more than enough. I am certainly no pro baker, so my piping skills aren’t piped1great – but I was proud of the swirl I got for most of them. I sifted some cocoa powder on top of these ones and they actually looked pretty fucking good.

The Comparison

Left: Martha, Right: KidSpot

On presentation, it was easy to see that Martha’s was superior. Upon taste, in my personal opinion, Martha won as well. I would say that if you’re not a massive fan of lots of icing, then they might not be for you. I have a sweet tooth but I did think they were just a touch on the sickly side. The cocoa powder on top helped to balance it out so that was a good call on my part.


The KidSpot cupcakes certainly weren’t shit, but I felt they were less chocolatey in the cake and icing than I expected.

Taste tester Lee declared that which cupcake he thought was which, and actually got it wrong. Overall, his favourite was Martha’s as well. He felt that the chocolate was more pronounced, and certainly more moist.


I took the cupcakes into work (a decision that wasn’t popular with Lee but there was like 1kg of icing sugar alone on these fuckers so I couldn’t let him eat all of them). The overall consensus was that both types were good. I can’t go around telling people to eat two cakes and compare them for me at work every week so I never get statistics regarding that – but I also can’t go around promoting my sweary, rude, and NSFW blog to the highly esteemed lawyers I work with.

The Ratings


  • Difficulty: 2/10 (what would you expect for a kids recipe?)
  • Presentation: 5/10 (very, very average)
  • Taste: 7/10 (not bad, not great)

Martha Stewart

  • Difficulty: 4/10 (purely due to the conversions and making life harder on myself by using a piping bag)
  • Presentation: 8/10 (the icing could have been more uniformed but I’m fucking proud of my efforts)
  • Taste: 8/10 (less icing might have made the score higher).ingres1

The Last Word

If I had kids I would never let them bake.


Pumpkin Pissing Pie…fuck

Hello readers. Not even fucking sorry that this post is late because I’ve had a rough week, but here it is.

As my few loyal followers will know, the last weekend of the month is designated for a foreign bake – and as it was halloween weekend, I thought I would grab the pumpkin by the balls and turn the motherfucker into a pie. The pumpkin is native to north ‘murica, and was an early export to France; from there it was introduced to Tudor England, and the flesh of the “pompion” was quickly accepted as pie filler. This is according to wikipedia so who knows how accurate that is.

I had to do quite a bit of research for recipes from professionals, and the only one I came across from a TV chef opened with the sentence ‘I’ve substituted the pumpkin for butternut squash’, so I closed that tab immediately. Corner cutting dickhead. So eventually I gave up and resigned to use a recipe from Betty Crocker, and the other recipe from InspiredTaste.net.

I’ve never made anything with pumpkin before, apart from a few shoddy attempts at carving them (talking of which, here is this years result)

Pumpkin juice and pumpkin pie both get a fair few mentions in the Harry Potter books, and I see American’s raving about it on pinterest. I looked at some pictures of the stuff and it did look nice, so how hard could it be?

I gathered my ingredients (hungover as fuck from the halloween part the night before) and jammed a knife into my pumpkin.

Betty Crocker

1,4The first thing I realised about this bake was that I forgot just how hard it was to slash the orange twat into pieces. The recipes called for canned pumpkin, but in the UK our shops don’t seem to sell it, so I got a recipe for pumpkin puree and used that. What’s that, you cry? I’m meant to be following the recipes exactly? Well, fuck you. I’m following the recipes to the best I can, the same way any average baker would. This blog is about the reality of baking, not the fluffed up instagram photos you see.

So, I ripped this pumpkin apart and dropped 1.6the chunks (peel still intact) into boiling water and let them stew for 20 mins. Once they were mushy, I took them out, rinsed them, and peeled the meat from skin. I mashed the fuckers up with a fork and left them to the side to cool.

In the meantime, I made the pastry. This was entitled ‘pat-in-the-pan’ pastry, and all I had to do was mix flour, water, and oil together and press the dough into my pie tin. Fucking simple, fucking easy. 10/10 would use again. Probably wont taste as good but whatever, I’m just happy to have a pie crust that hasn’t fallen apart yet.


I put the tin into the fridge to chill because apparently that’s what you do, and got on with making the filling. I fucked up the eggs, sugar, evaporated milk, spices, and pumpkin mash with my whisks and was left with a greyish looking gloop that smelt mildly of cinnamon. It was reminiscent of what Donald Trump’s skin might look like without the tan. The pumpkin was obviously shredded, but the pulp sunk to the bottom of the bowl in a congealed mess. I persevered nevertheless, and poured the shit into my pie tin. Into the Fucking Incinerator™ it went, on a lower temperature than required, and set the timer for 10mins (5mins earlier than the recipe calls for). Once the 10mins were up, I lowered the FI’s temperature and started to clean up the mess I had created. My pie1.3 filling had splashed absolutely everywhere during the whisking process, completely splattering me and my surroundings. This pie needed FORTY-FIVE-FUCKING-MINUTES to bake, so after I finished cleaning up I went to the shops to get myself a lucozade sport and a steak baguette to cure the hangover, which was only being 1,5made worse by the effort of whisking.

The timer rang and I went to open the door. I predicted a 10/10 on the smoke scale as it had been in there for so long, but I was pleasantly surprised at being greeted only to a 9/10. I attempted to grab this shitting pie, trying to clear a way through the fucking fog, and acquired a nice burn in doing so (don’t tell me I don’t work for this blog). I slammed the prick 1.7onto the counter. It didn’t look very orange at all. Nor did it smell all that wonderful. I slid it to the side and tried to gather enough morale to make the next one.


2.3InspiredTaste had the balls to call their homemade pumpkin pie ‘no fail’. Well, this recipe has not yet been attempted by the Swearing Chef, so there is still time.

This recipe asked for a ‘chilled pie crust’ but didn’t give the instructions for it, so I had to navigate to a recipe on their site. I mashed the dough together and pressed it into my well-greased pie tin, which went better than my shortcrust pastry normally does. A few cracks here and there but nothing catastrophic. I 2.1threw the fucker into the fridge to continue chilling, and started on the filling. The instructions consisted of three fucking sentences, which I can get down with. Less words = less steps = more time to drink wine. So, I whisked the eggs and sugar. Added spices, pumpkin (that I had prepared in the same way as before) and cream. And stirred. Sweet. The filling looked exactly the same as Betty’s – grey and lumpy. Now, my Mum loved me enough to send me to school with a packed lunch, but I imagine this filling looks like ‘school dinner’, 2.2whatever the fuck that was. I poured the shit into the pie crust and threw it in the oven. I couldn’t be doing with putting the crust in the FI and then filling it, because I don’t suffer with Parkinson’s and I can get a liquid filled pie in an oven without fucking it up. I preheated the oven yada yada early timer yada yada fucking incinerator etc etc. (can you tell how disillusioned I am with writing this cunting post?)


45mins later, with a final push and a scream, a grey and slimy looking thing was born. It didn’t look appealing, but it did smell nice at least. I set it aside to cool.

Whilst that was happening, I whipped up a basic bitch cream to service with the pie, just double cream, sugar, and a tbsp of skimmed milk powder to stabilise it.

The Comparison

Left: InspiredTaste, Right: Betty Crocker

There’s no easy to way to say this….well, there is: BOTH OF THESE PIES WERE FUCKING SHIT. Neither of them looked like pumpkin pie, neither of them tasted like pumpkin fucking pie. These fuckers tasted mashed potato that had grown a crust and been sprinkled with cinnamon. I mean they weren’t absolutely foul, and Lee is working his way through both of the pies on his own at an impressive rate for what he’s consuming- but I couldn’t face the shame of bringing one into work like I normally do.

I feel I should let you know, however, that the pictures make them both look a lot more burnt than they actually were – there was certainly some singed edges but the tops weren’t half as dark as they appear to be. If anyone wants to donate a digital camera to my blog then let me know, my phone just isn’t cutting it.

Lee couldn’t guess which pie was which because both of them were so, so similar and so, so average. I don’t blame him. These pies remind me of Lindsay Lohan – they should be orange, fluffy, and a family favourite. Instead they’re washed out, a menace to society, and need to be left in a corner to fade away into obscurity.

Perhaps these pies were so shite because I didn’t use canned pumpkin, but I honestly don’t for one second believe that it would have made much of a difference.

The Ratings

Betty Crocker

  • Difficulty: 4/10 – hardest part was preparing the pumpkin
  • Presentation: 6/10 – with the cream on top, it was a passable pie
  • Taste: -22348924593942-034910 – no comment


  • Difficulty: 4/10 – same again
  • Presentation: 6/10 – same again
  • Taste: -49859829230493043349 – you get the idea.

The Final Word

my reaction at the fucking pies

Bitchin’ Victoria Fucking Sponge

Good afternoon – this post is late I know, I thought I had published it but evidently I had a fucking spaz and only saved it as a draft. The titles of my posts now have to contain swearwords because barely anyone reads this fucking blog and there was a spike in followers after my Motherfucking Marble Cake post.


I’ve had a few requests at work for a victoria sponge. Now, if there is a basic bitch of the baking world, this is it. I don’t care how patriotic you are or how much you want to bum the monarchy, a victoria sponge is fucking dull and I don’t know why it’s so celebrated.

I figured I’d just get it out the way because I know it’s a pretty easy bake and I was fucking busy at the weekend with the shopping and laundry because apparently I live in the fucking 50’s. Whatever.

The recipe from the professionals comes from the motherfucking Hairy Bikers. I have used them before but I can’t for the fucking life of me remember when and I’m not about to look through my old posts to find them. Now, when you google ‘victoria sponge recipe’, one of the first things you’ll see is a recipe from Mary Berry. I kinda feel like some readers will want to burn me at the stake for not using old Bezza’s recipe but I have used her like 3 times already so someone else needs the spotlight.

The other recipe comes from allrecipes.co.uk, who came that their victoria sponge is ‘lush’. Taffy wankers.


The Hairy Bikers

ingres1I started with the hairy bastards because fuck it why not. I gathered the ingredients, which included cinnamon for some reason far beyond my fucking comprehension. When the fuck have you ever eaten a VS with bloody CINNAMON in it?? I weighed out all the ingredients because I’m organised as fuck, and preheated the Fucking Incinerator (minus 20 degrees).

As a nod of respect to Mary Berry, I used her greasing technique for the cake tins – butter it, paper it, butter it again. I set the tins aside and grabbed the whisks. I beat the shit into the sugar and butter, creating a myocardial-infarction-inducing mix of delicious fat and calories. The Bikers (whose names I don’t know and probably wont research) stipulated mix 1.1that 5 minutes was the optimum time for beating so I set the timer and let the whisks do the hard work. The result was certainly a paler mix than I normally get so I assumed that meant it was magic and my cake couldn’t fail. I beat in the eggs, one at a time…another thing beyond my comprehension but I followed the instructions. They told me that if the mix curdled, I could save it by adding in some flour…that’s great but what does a curdled cake batter even fucking look like? I threw in a tablespoon of flour anyway just to make sure, beat in the vanilla extract, then folded in the rest of the flour.

mic i n1

I poured the boring, pale mix into the cake tins and hurled them into the Fucking Incinerator™ and set the timer for 20 minutes (10 minutes less than recommended). I would normally at this point have a glass of wine to myself but I’m doing this fucking horrible diet at the moment so alcohol is off the table. Instead I put the laundry in the tumble dryer and considered killing myself because 15 year old me would slap 23 year old me if she knew that I spend half my life cooking and cleaning.

I did also make a start on the buttercream. Basic shit – mix the icing sugar, water, butter, icing1and cinnamon in. It was only a teaspoon of the spice and I couldn’t really tell it was in there, but it felt so wrong. This only took like 5 minutes but as I don’t have a standalone mixer yet, the icing sugar obviously went everywhere when I plunged the whisks in. I covered the mix and put the bowl in the fridge, then started to clean up what now looked like Charlie Sheen’s bedside table.


The timer went off and I opened the door of the FI. Only a 4/10 on the smoke scale, which I take as a success. The cakes were most definitely done, so I slid them out and let them cool. After they were no longer so hot you could barbecue a burger on them, I started to slather on the buttercream. I then spread the raspberry jam on top of that. I took one of the cakes and carefully went to place it on top of the other….and IT FUCKING SPLIT IN HALF. Like I shit you not the thing just split no matter how careful I was with it. Maybe some icing sugar would help to hide it….

….no, it didn’t. Balls.



After I got over the rage with the intensity of a thousand suns, I got my shit together and cracked on with the other cake. Same shit, different measurements. The steps were near on the exact same as The Bikers’, but it didn’t tell me to beat the butter and sugar for 5 minutes so I just whazzed them until it looked combined. In went the eggs, one at a time, and then the flour. This recipe didn’t call for vanilla in the sponge mix, which I thought would lead to an even more boring and basic sponge.

mix 2.2

I poured this mix, which certainly seemed runnier, into my well greased cake tins and threw those into the FI.

I know this part isn’t the most detailed but there’s nothing I could say that would be any fucking different to the Bikers’ recipe.


Again, whilst the cakes were baking, I made the buttercream. This time minus the cinnamon, but add some vanilla. The recipe didn’t actually call for buttercream, in fact it asked for whipped cream. But I am not a savage so I made just a run of the mill buttercream. Simple, but 234839x better than emptying a can of whipped cream onto the cake. There’s only one place N2O icing2should go, and that’s into your lungs when you’re 17 at a house party and it’s the first time you’ve dabbled in anything remotely close to actual drugs.

I heard the familiar sound of the timer, and the FI’s door was opened…a 7/10 on the smoke scale – certainly more than the Biker’s cake but not to the extent where the fire alarms were triggered (I really need to remove the fucking batteries from those cunts).

After they had had ample time to cool, I spread on the cream and jam and sandwiched the cakes together. Bada-bing, bada-boom.


I set this cake to the side whilst I got on with clearing away the clutter, planning dinner, and making sure my personality was bright and cheery, ready for the return of my husband who had been away at work all day whilst I looked after our 2 children*

The Comparison


compare 2compare 1

You can see a fair few differences in these twatting sponges – obviously, one has a split wider than Jonah Hill’s arse crack down the middle. The other is a bit pale and deflated in comparison to the arse-cake. Both of them looked fucking boring. A victoria sponge truly is the cake that your 65 year old neighbour you invite only as a courtesy to your macmillan coffee morning would bring. “For fuck’s sake, Brenda, I didn’t think you’d actually come but you have and you bought a cake that no one wants to eat, partially because it tastes like shite and partially because we’ve seen the state of your kitchen”.

Taste tester Lee actually put some effort into his adjectives this week, and told me that both cakes were quite dry (that could well be the FI’s fault), however the AllRecipes cake was less so. He couldn’t tell there was cinnamon in the Biker’s cake either. Overall, his favourite was the AllRecipes cake. Initially, he guessed wrong when figuring out which cake was which. I could easily have bought a Sainsbury’s basics sponge and have him compare that but I feel I would have been stuck with 3 full size cakes that no one would eat.

The Ratings

The Hairy Bikers

  • Difficulty: 6/10 – the beating was the most strenuous task.
  • Presentation: -127/10 – who wants to eat an arse-crack cake?
  • Taste: 5/10 – fucking average.


  • Difficulty: 3/10 – far less effort involved.
  • Presentation: 6/10 – not bad, could have been better.
  • Taste: 5/10 – again, fucking average.

The Final Word

Tell me these two don’t bum each other.