Gluten Free Orange and Almond Cake with Chocolate Ganache

The gluten-free part is irrelevant for me.  I am one of those people who has no food intolerances (also known as a European).  I consume dairy, eggs, gluten, saturated fat, in short: everything and have never been tempted into a purging of my diet in an attempt to achieve clarity of mind, gain energy or a slimmer figure (isn’t that what coffee is for?).  So yes-that it’s ‘gluten free’ is more informative than anything.

We used to make this cake at Melrose and Morgan, the girls from Triyoga up in Primrose Hill would come, perch on the corner of something small and daintily nibble on it (imagine a svelte glossy haired gerbil if you will) while they sipped on something seemingly virtuous and always caffeine free (chamomile tea, fresh mint tea, hot water with a slice of lemon-I could never figure out how much to charge for that?)

It was the one cake pastry loved to have on the cake rota because it was easy.  Boil some oranges, bung everything but the kitchen sink into a food processor and whiz.  When the kitchen timer went off to say it was ready, they could let it languish – oh up to 15 minutes more since this is one cake you can’t over bake (the almonds and orange keep it moist for an exceptionally long time).  In fact, a one day old orange and almond cake is almost better than one that is freshly baked.I liked this cake a lot but it was a bit like that guy I always hung out with as a teen that was a good friend but not exciting enough to be elevated to the status of boyfriend.  And then I went to Sweet Things in Primrose Hill and all of a sudden, the orange cake went all Patrick Dempsey in Can’t Buy Me Love on me (it pains me that there are those of you who don’t know to what I am referring here let’s just say, the cake went turbo and that Patrick Dempsey was not always Dr. Derek Shepherd.)

Pear Cake

Due to extreme sleep deprivation, a plummeting bank balance and occasional (Full disclosure? Frequent) boredom, this baby machine is now closed for business.

Subsequently, I have given away my maternity wear, pillows, baby books, to anyone who looks remotely pregnant- even if they are just fat.

Except for my underwear. The hideous ones with the high waist, cut low on the legs, I’ve still got those.

Uncomfortable underwear, shoes and mascara (that stuff hurts more than you can imagine when sharp bits flake off and drop into your soft eye) make me question the existence of feminism.  Forget the glass ceiling or pay disparity and consider the string.