Holy new interface, Blogger!
Here you see my awe-inspiring plating skills, and part of my desk. Oh, and my shortbread.
Assuming I manage to post this at all, what I was planning to say was... this post almost didn't happen at all. I haven't done any serious cooking in weeks; my brain has been Elsewhere, writing even when I am not physically writing (which is most of the time; if I wrote nearly as much as I think about writing, I would have seventy novels).
This weekend in particular was a tough one. There is a hell peculiar to writers of fiction, and it is called the query letter. I spent much of the weekend trying out different approaches and feeling sorry for myself when people didn't like any of them, alternately hating my book, myself, and everyone who has ever given me criticism on writing, however kind and useful it has turned out to be. I didn't think I had the energy even to make shortbread.
Which is pretty damn silly. Shortbread is only one of the easiest things in the universe to make. On Sunday I managed to haul myself out of the Slough of Despond long enough to mix up a bare handful of ingredients (see our hosts, 1smallkitchen and The not so exciting adventures of a dabbler for the recipe), put them in a pan and bake them.
I have to admit, I thought the method in this recipe was really weird--freeze and then grate the dough? What on earth FOR? But it did make for very tasty shortbread, not to mention a good upper body workout. I eyeballed my dough halves rather than weighing them like a sensible person, so the base was probably a bit thinner than it ought to have been, but for what was involved, this is actually a very good, almost elegant (!) nibble.
Next time you're in a writing funk, or any other sort of funk, go ahead and make these. They go very well with tea and self-pity.