Maybe it was seeing the richly-iced cake at the top of my last post each time I logged on to the 'puter, or perhaps it was the huge bag of couverture chocolate staring out wantonly each time the pantry door is opened. Maybe, even, it was the typically sage advice a friend of Kathryn's shared with her, then subsequently with me, from Michael Pollan's Food Rules - that you may eat any kind of junk food you like, so long as you make it yourself.
Maybe. But over the weekend an odd, serendipitous, and most exciting thing happened. On Friday morning I opened an old, old Donna Hay book, one I've not so much as glanced at in years, and cooked her "chocolate cake for a glass of milk" - an iced, layered, and dairy-heavy affair - simply because Quentin Bacon's polaroid transfers are so damned dreamy. It's a work of Art, that book, and I'm rather glad - given it's current (ouch) price point - that I kept my copy. A few hours later, cake cooling on the sink, awaiting its ganache topping, Peter walked in the door and handed me a paper bag with a POLAROID CAMERA and two packs of Impossible film inside.
Forget the cake - it was nice, yes, of course it was - it's the camera that really made my weekend shine.