Pastry

On the subject of pastry, I am positively evangelical. Until fairly recently I practised heavy avoidance techniques, hastily, anxiously turning away from any recipe which included pastry, as if the cookbook’s pages themselves were burning: I was hot with fear; could feel the flush rise in my panicky cheeks. I take strength from that, and so should you. Because if I can do the culinary equivalent, for me, of Learning to Love the Bomb, so can you.

It came upon me gradually. I made some plain shortcrust pastry, alone and in silence, apart from the comforting wall of voices emanating from Radio 4: it worked; I made some more. Then I tried some pâte sucrée: it worked; I made some more; it didn’t. But the next time, it did; or rather, I dealt better with its difficulties.