Sunday, February 03, 2008
In January, 2002, I moved to Australia. To Turbo's house. It was the end of MariesWorldTour. I'd sold my East Village condo before leaving town a year before and my possessions were all in storage. I was homeless and had an Australian boyfriend. So off I went.
And on Australia Day, Turbo made a big deal over something called ANZAC biscuits. I'd never heard of these coconut and golden syrup cookies, but oh-how-I-would. He didn't actually remember how to bake them initially. He called his mother and she walked him through it. But he remembered the key secret to a good batch, and showed me. I took over the ANZAC duties after that, using a recipe from the local paper and his key secret to eventually surpass him. My ANZACs were better than his. Ha.
Today, six winters later, I'm going to a Superbowl Party. I don't care about football and I'm certainly not interested in beer, so this is a hazardous undertaking at best. I *do* like Underdog (the hero) and underdogs (in this case, the New York Giants), and I'm told there won't be much actual football watching, so maybe I'll be only a bit alienated instead of baffled.
I just finished mixing the dough for the ANZAC biscuits. They will be my contribution to the party. They're kind of like Samoas without the chocolate or caramel. Except Samoas aren't always called Samoas. Sometimes they are called Caramel deLites, which just annoys me because of the stupid spelling.
I tried avoiding the key secret. I tried mixing my ANZAC dough with a wooden spoon, but my dough was crumbly and not cohesive. I sighed and resigned myself to Turbo's secret. I washed my hands and plunged them into the dough.
The key secret to ANZAC biscuits is to mix the dough with your hands.