The Sugar Bar

I promised a big red velvet feature after a previous Cupcake von Tease post. And I had meant for this feature to be quite a big one but the week’s kinda got a little busier, a little more hectic with deadlines and other exciting posts that clamoured to the top and pushed this red velvet feature down to the bottom.

And when a friend and I finally made it to the bakery – we trekked all across London just for these babies, it was a horribly dreary, wet, windy day and our cupcakes and cakes nearly got squished and ruined on the journey back. We would’ve liked to sit in and enjoy these, savour the glorious moment but the Portobello shop isn’t as big as the one in Kensington. Expect to be trampled upon by other cupcake fanatics and tourists visiting the area. It ain’t very pleasant but I’m not complaining now that I have red velvet in the fridge, good for a few days of sugar cravings and cream cheese daydreams.

The red velvet once again didn’t let me down. It’s still pretty much one of the best I’ve tasted – the frosting is great but I particularly love the cake bit as it’s hard to get this taste right!

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So what’s this about Diva Talks?

Some of you may have noticed that my blog’s gradually changing and I’m talking a little more about myself. I’ve tried to give the blog more of a personality. It’s less about just putting up recipes that I’ve experimented with or tried. And as I now have no oven to work with, I’m venturing more into the cooking arena and will be, I hope with much diligence, attempting sweets and chocolates those sorta things that have no need for a convection oven. I’m more of a baker than a cook – I think being a little OCD means using the right measurements down to 1/4 tsp gives me a great sense of security and achievement at the same time unlike the free-and-easy ways of general cooking. But that means I get to have more fun this year. So bear with me, those who know that my blog prefers to experiment more with the sweet rather than savoury – hence the name: The Sugar Bar.

Nevertheless, that’s not really what I’ve been wanting to share. The past summer went by quite painfully for me. I’m not one to really talk about personal issues publicly (nor with anyone else really except with my very close girlfriends) but I went through a heartbreak that totally caught me by surprise. I mean boy, it was tough. Like the boys I meet, they can never bring themselves to spit out what exactly they’re thinking so I took hold of the reigns, grabbed him by his balls and said it like it was. They always say that women are stronger but I find sometimes that’s a real contentious thought. I think we’re just cleverer and to-the-point when needs be. So I broke it off. But somehow it felt worse that I’d done it because that wasn’t what I wanted. It was something he couldn’t deal with because he was afraid and wanted to crawl back into his shell and find comfort in his own little hole. Fair enough. I liked him enough, adored him to pieces in fact, to let him go. Said ‘goodbye and go’. Cried myself to sleep. Woke up the next day and continued to pretend like it hadn’t affected me at all.

We parted ways. And the friendship now is pretty shaky I believe. Give it time and I know things will be alright. But a couple of months before now, and when I first returned to England to settle down in my new pad in London, you can imagine how dead I was inside. Everything about London screamed at me : you were meant to be here with him, enjoying your favourite season of the year, watching spring turn to fall and anticipating an amazing Christmas together. Obviously, that was me being sulky and I had a hard time trying to enjoy myself here. Although I did in time to come. And believe me, I really do now! I didn’t really let it out of me proper. Even when I met up with him to get my stuff back, I couldn’t sob about it like I wanted to and that’s just me I know.

At the bus station, we said goodbye with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. But the whole 30 minutes that I saw him, I knew every second was just a second I wanted to disappear. Although disappearing wouldn’t have made anything better, or made any difference to the status quo, it was just that – it wouldn’t matter, as he was treating me like our relationship had never existed. Non-acknowledgement of my existence in his life. And that was the most cruel stab I could endure I believe. No one has ever done that to me before. Even the term ‘friendship’ suddenly became a joke to me. Our friendship, our great banter, the laughs and cheeky grins in that 30 minutes reminded me of the real stuff we used to have before the shit hit the ceiling and now it was all quite ridiculous. Like a charade, like something we had to perform.

It’s taken a while and a good, a real good, let-it-all-out cry at my bestfriend’s for me to realize I hadn’t really let go, or gotten over it as I’d kid myself into believing. And now, even though I’m still hurting, I feel like I can dust off my bum, smudge some rouge on my cheeks and offer a fresh face to the world. I can brave it out there again.

And why this has anything at all to do with my foodblog and hence, gain a right to be on this page at all, is because I was finding it hard to write like I normally did. I used to sing (pretend) I was a rockstar in my bedroom. I did it regularly for a laugh and because I really enjoyed it. I used to write all the time, because I found a great pleasure in giving birth to my little literary works. But the summer killed me a little and I found no inspiration for anything. It was like someone pulled the carpet from beneath me and put the stops to everything. Nothing came from me, I offered nothing to the world. Part of me felt like I had to completely deny myself of the normal outlets of release, of anything I took joy in. And it seemed part of me wanted to deny myself food which was a truly bad way of attempting to take control of one’s life. I went shopping, I indulged and milked my heartbreak for whatever it was worth. Even fashion and the usual quirky photography I took so much joy in couldn’t fire me up. Couldn’t feel satisfied, however much I tried. But I remembered my blog and it gave me a breather, a different avenue to unleash.

The girls on Twitter who I met and started to communicate with on a daily basis made it a lot easier as well. And getting to know fellow so Spiffy, whom I adore for her courage and ballsy attitude, told me to pull my socks up, get a grip and snap out of this dream-state that was slowly eating me away and robbing me of my usual creativity and vivaciousness. The girls, whom I call the Twitter Breakfast Club, were chirpy and lively every morning. They chatted about anything and everything – from food, to shoes, to love handles, to children, to being happy. And before I knew it, I started to realize I was looking forward to getting up in the mornings. My wake-up alarm got shifted from a disgusting 10.30am to an 8am just so I could get a quick chat in with the girls. They’re mothers (and fathers, don’t worry I haven’t forgotten you boys!)and a little older than me, but wiser and still as cool and quick as a whiplash. How could I not enjoy the wicked banter and intellectual conversations I have with them? I’ll be meeting some of them at the first ever UK Food Blogger Connect conference and I’m so excited about it! We’ll be sure to have such fun.

The close few girls I keep in touch with, if anything, have un-deadified me. They inspire me and always make me feel like I had so much to offer. A lot of love shared on Twitter.

And so yes, I have taken a step out of my coffin and found my mojo back.

These girls are amazing and so Spiffy is like my light at the end of the tunnel. My bestfriends from uni have also been real troopers listening to me rant, offering me a shoulder to cry on and giving me time to deal with things. I don’t like talking about it but now that I’ve changed my phone to leave the past in the old, I now find that this post must be something I have to do to wash it all away. I don’t need to start again as I love everything of my past and everything that has happen. God plans it all according to his greater plan and I do not regret nor hold grudges against anyone for anything. I am just thankful that I have now opened my eyes and said goodbye to some unhappiness at least.

I have always been thought of as the strongest girl out of the lot. The half-girl half-boy for being so nonchalant and a little cold, if you dare. But I know I’m not. If anything I’m the fieriest of the lot because I have passion that’s brimming (a little too hot to handle, LOL) and I have to hold that back a little so I don’t go mental. And I can now feel that passion in me again. I’ve started writing and I’ve definitely found it in me to start singing and screeching like a mad git in my own bedroom to AC/DC, Lady Gaga, System of a Down, Stereophonics, etc. Booyah. I’m back.

And I intend to make sure everyone knows it. Even if he can’t see me, that’s fine. We got to take charge of our own lives and get up when we fall down. Blame no one for your mistakes, for your upsetting times, and definitely not for your broken hearts. Grab the reigns of your life, look the bull in the eye, get ballsy and face the music. Get mending.

Oh yea.

Cupcakes healed me too.