CINNAMON CHESTNUT SWIRL BREAD

If this specific semi-conscious portion of my brain that has been misbehaving since my return from outer space could be accessed by means of a Welcome10 (or if I hadn't said no to fun and hacking tutorials), I would no doubt log in and schedule one of those universally dreaded Outlook-style reminder windows to pop up in my head, accompanied by a force-twelve ear-splitting alarm bell and re-occurring until further notice, to read in monster font size: YOU ARE IN CANADA NO MORE; as behaviours such as spending evenings in basements attempting to scan aerial shots of Vancouver in life size, travelling North of the river (!) to acquire pumpkin spice latte and sweet potatoes and pumpkin miso soup, purchasing maple water and pumpkin beer, trying to replicate recipes of every single food item I consumed during my nine-day Canada trip, pouring half a liter of maple syrup into my maple tea that I will exclusively drink out of my Vancouver mug, unconsciously adopting the American spelling, being upset about the availability of Jamaican cream soda only (it’s not the same. Not the same), and starting the overwhelming majority of my conversation exchanges with overexcited when-I-was-in-Canada’s cannot be deemed appropriate or well judged.

One day, I’m sure, I will finally come to terms with the actuality that all is left of my trip is an inhuman amount of tea, a still very spotty face, and photos with one light leak too many; and in fact, you’ll be relieved to know that I have already been working on re-directing these escapist tendencies of mine to 1. fictional worlds, going on solitary day trips to admire Victorian stone sculptures of extinct animals as it would make a very adventurous chapter in an imaginary book that would have the coolest cover and would be titled ‘Amongst The Dinosaurs of Crystal Palace’; and for the sake of sanity and social acceptance 2. other places on this very planet, booking stupidly expensive flights to Italy and going on a Chinese mooncake ingredient hunt, being mistaken for a Swede (and taking it as a compliment and appreciating the importance of capitalisation), working on the perfect vegan Yorskhire parkin for Bonfire Night, and last but not least seeking baking inspiration in Australian food magazines (which I was given in Canada but don’t tell anyone). And it is the latter, ladies and gentlemen, that brings me here today with a recipe for the best sticky fluffy swirly cinnamony tea-time bread with the creamiest chestnut and walnut filling (and only a negligible amount of maple syrup, leave me alone) you can possibly find this side of the pond or the other.

I’ll let you know how I get on with my pursuit of a cure for Canada-lessness (or hacking lessons, and mental health), but for right now rest assured that I’ll be all content with my delicious swirly bread, because who wouldn’t be, eh?

WHITE BEAN PECAN PUMPKIN BLONDIES

Some people can add to other people’s life like that, and bring gifts of photos of tiny kittens and rules of thirds and cool cameras (and, fix broken ones), or secret phone numbers and nuts for dinner and Egyptian bracelets and painful fashion advice, or puns and phone calls and carefully selected vegan ham-flavoured crisps, or the biggest smiles and fobs and doughnuts, or loud laughs, badly edited pictures of honey badgers, fancy iPhones and second-hand flirting, German experimental music playlists, Belle and Sebastian, instant email responses, birthday cards, tailored guidance on London boroughs (as night follows day wPeckhamwsavesw), haircuts worth four hundred bus rides, take-care's, espressos, inexplicable exceptions to the rule of never being touched, books that were meant for someone else, unrealistic tales of North-American wildlife, bags-for-life, thermals, sleeping pills, good-night’s; or (but you’ve got to be lucky like I am), even all of the above.

Now whether all these riches are deserved or not, or if I’d rather give things away than lose them, or again if I myself only am the bearer of utter annihilation (fine, of stuffed killer whales also; but only if you’re David Wilson), however consciously hidden behind a mask of cuteness, quirkiness and puppy eyes, it’s an entire different story; because today, on Matt’s birthday, cake is the only thing that I choose to bring along.

Adding fudgy pecan pumpkin blondies to someone’s life really can’t be a bad thing; plus when you and your cake tin are almost squeezed to death on your crammed bus to work, there’s just no room for all the bullshit.
Aaaand many more.

ROOT BEER CREAM PIE

When it feels like everything’s a ceiling and you wish you could spend every single day of the next at least eleven years of your life hanging out in the sun in a café on Fraser Street eating vegan cheesecake and sipping cream soda (although caffè & panettone with James is also fine):

ROOT BEER MARSHMALLOW FLUFF PIE.

MATRIMONIAL CAKE - CANADIAN DATE SQUARES

My return to Bad City left me with some serious time-and-space-perception issues, a heavy suitcase to carry without someone's help and this feeling of my brain being all wrapped up in cotton, like the one you find inside Canadian pill bottles (and it might in fact be there for the same exact reason that is, Google and common sense enlighten me, preventing breakage).
In the twilight of my return (the afterglow of sunset, or the first dim light of the morning, I wouldn't know. I am having breakfast for lunch, dinner and actual breakfast until I work out which is which), what I came back to find is that, be it in Bad City or by the breath-taking cliffs of the Pacific coast or along the sunniest Victoria bay or looking out the hotel window with the best Lost-in-Translation view of Vancouver, the heaviest thing you can possibly carry around in your suitcase is your mind.
What I also found, is that friendly drooly hairy cuddly mastiffs and marzipan tea and gallons and gallons of vanilla extract (like bringing back a litre of maple syrup doesn't also make me cry with joy) and Mickey Mouse plasters and Oreo crumbs and pumpkin-shaped candles and lovely lovely people who feed you oatmeal (and hug you), and hanging out by Police Museums and mortuaries and tiny art galleries on your birthday and drinking Shirley Temples at grown-up bars and vegan cupcakes and vegan cinnamon rolls (one too many) and vegan chocolate marshmallow pies and vegan Sailor Jerry Coke floats at Twin Peaks themed pubs and vegan everything and cream soda and root beer and Chinese gardens and red bean bubble tea and sushi at nutcase Japanese restaurants and being suspicious towards brown shoes and hated on by the raw vegans and searched by airport security for transporting life-size Mexican skulls in your hand bag; all this, and in fact more, makes it painless enough to carry all that weight down the escalators and on the tube for ages and finally all the way up two flights of stairs back home.
If at that point you also realise that your heart (and your brand new uber-cool hand-crafted birthday bag) doesn't feel all that heavy after all, head out again - you can be the bearer of gifts and snus and hang out at the Persian cafe and have your dates (I see a pattern there).
Now, we are soon to find out whether there will be any photographic evidence of all the aforementioned beauty I've seen (an excessive amount of tears has been shed already, not to worry) and it looks like there's not going to be any wedding taking place any time soon, soz for the ironic and/or misleading recipe theme. But you will still be all ready to make your own version of Matrimonial Cake, because it's mind-liftingly and heart-liftingly and suitcase-liftingly delicious like very few other things on this planet.
To celebrate Canada, and my success in carrying my heavy suitcase all the way there and back.