The Father spent a day over the long weekend (Auckland anniversary or some shit, not nationwide) making some planter boxes for The Nana, who has decided she wants to compete with the Fathers amazeballs vege garden, top pic below; all of the fenced-off area and I'm not going to bother even trying to list all the shit they grow. It's a lot. And stuff gets frozen or converted (chilli jam and relishes and so on) or bottled and lasts all year.
Some whanau came down for the long weekend and we spent the Monday at Lake Rotoiti; Not a cloud in the sky and we swam, BBQ'd, dunked the dogs in the lake (Trouble still smells like lake water, its a delightful change from the whatever-dead-seabird-or-fish-he-found-on-the-beach-most-recently aroma) swam, read, swam and chatted the day away. Finished with fish & chips at the heads back in Whaka; completely beaut day.
In prep of the visit I made a blueberry cake (free range eggs and real vanilla) and it is quite honestly the best-baked cake I have made to date. Ever. Not undercooked, not overcooked, I was astounded with it. There's always something I want to change (yeah ok, if I'm honest - with everything I ever do; to make it better), but this was sublime.
I drizzled Heilala vanilla syrup over top and sifted icing sugar, the two of which combined to make a delicious crackly topping. Oooo I'm happy just remembering it. Not too many blueberries to make it stodgy, but enough that every bite had some berry goodness. Mmmm. My fave base-recipe, but at this point I fiddle with things so much as I go, I'm not sure if it counts any more. I'm trying to immortalise the memory, since its one of those things I think will only ever happen once.
There is just nothing quite like evenings at the beach.
And back to the original point of this rambling story - proof that my hilarity is inherited and not a novel mutation. The vege garden planter boxes for The Nana looked remarkable coffin-like and got treated as such: