Well, poopsicles. Looks like the computer ate last night’s tasting note somewhere between my writing it and it actually being posted! And here I was just thinking y’all didn’t like my ridiculously over-sharing personal rant-reviews anymore. Let’s see if I can remember what I had to say:
Ah, well. Remember that bakery job I told you all about that I started a few weeks ago? Hated it. Hated it so much that I quit on Saturday. My manager, an absolute sweetie to whom I bear nothing but good feelings and apologies for taking off without a notice period, was absolutely understanding. That, at least, was something. The upshot of it was that instead of the R&D I’d been told I was going to be doing, they started what will be about 3 months of ongoing renovations, leaving a kitchen with concrete dust and wires hanging from the ceiling while people are trying to make bagels and brownies in a tiny, cramped space that’s scarcely sufficient for the volume of stuff being done. It’s hotter than Lucifer’s scrotum, and in addition to my hands seizing with tendonitis and becoming useless, it hurts to stand on my ankles, and my eczema’s manifesting itself in places it’s never been before, like the backs of my hands and arms. It’s not like building up the muscles you need to do heavy lifting. This is the kind of chronic stuff that only gets worse. Coming home in tears isn’t worth 4 6-hour shifts a week at 6 quid an hour. Sorry, gang, it’s back to a functional home bakery (and unemployment) for me. OH GOOD.
I’ll miss the fanta floats. It’s not on the menu, but man, a pint of fanta with a scoop of raspberry sorbet and vanilla ice cream? MAGICAL.
So last night, feeling a combination of relief and fear (given that I’m paying rent on two flats for the month of July, which I decidedly couldn’t even afford on my meagre bakery income, let alone none at all – feel free to tell your friends I’m taking illustration jobs!) I brewed myself a load of mambo, because mambo is a feel-good tea. It’s got just enough je ne sais quoi to it to keep you interested, without being overly challenging. It’s smooth and gentle and recalls flavours of ripe peaches and soft dustings of cocoa. There’s something incredibly comforting about it, while retaining a lightness: it’s like being hugged by downy soft pillows when you need someone to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. I’ll be sad when I run out of this one, and then I’ll be immediately onto Adagio’s website to restock.