That time of year again, folks! ...not the Festive Season, nor the turn-of-the-year hilarities. No, I refer to the annual attempt at baking. Enjoying a much appreciated tranquil end of the year, my roving eye turned to the baking cupboard - usually the domain of my expert-chef husband, temporarily lonely and unvisited. Why not then, produce something warm and inviting for my first-stepping visitors?

Well, the idyllic image and aromas of home-cooking or comforting tray-bakes to tempt the palate soon turned into the reality of ruined recipes. Did you know, for example, that one does not, apparently, grill the top of a Victoria Sandwich? Nor is it conventional to ‘warm up’ the butter-filling, to the extent that it oozes over the sponge, runs beyond the cake-stand and continues its journey down the side of the kitchen buffet, only stopping short of the cat. So, onto something a little less ambitious, perhaps? A set of scones? What is the collective noun is for ‘scones’?.. In this case, I would suggest a ‘magazine’ - not in the journal sense, in the something-to-keep-bullets-in, sense, for that was the texture of said scones. In a spirit of self-development and learning, I blamed the oven. It is a new oven and I think the dials are incorrectly calibrated, either too hot, or too easily setting itself to ‘grill’, or ‘spit’.

The above is nothing new, sadly. Add the recent baking ‘episodes’ to past horrors - apple crumble sans beurre (think baked talcum powder) and macaroni cheese without the cheese. White sauce without much flavouring is much akin to wallpaper paste, and I’ve eaten both. There have been more, but in the wider cuisine-pratfall, rather than the narrow-based failures such as above. Mind you, in the keeping with the season, the infamous tale of the 1st Christmas-dinner-to-impress-the-inlaws always crops up around this time of year. Eager to prove to myself (rather than others) that I - she who could cook nothing - could produce the whole works Festive Fare. In a sense, I DID achieve this - full range of starters, moving onto every main-meal trimming from every cook-book which was in print at that time, to multi-desserts, table dressings and centrepieces.  By the time I had finished, I was colour-matching myself to the napkins and wearing pigs-in-blankets for earrings. It all seemed to be progressing well up to the point at which a very courageous husband breached the formal non-interference pact and asked if he could help by, at least, checking on the turkey. The turkey. The turkey? What turkey, where turkey? ‘Blimey and dash it’, said I, only not those words, you understand, and steadied myself by hanging onto a kitchen appliance.

My personal favourite menu mayhem, however, also occured over one Season of Goodwill. Always thinking of vegetarians, I attempted a chestnut/breadcrumb bake. After 5 mins in a hot oven the kitchen began to reek of burning tyre, my eyes reacted in that ‘tear-gas’ way, now common when I grace a kitchen. Ever hopeful, I checked the cook-book and sadly no mention was made of such aromas. When cooled, the dish tasted as if it had, in fact, been prepared in the lubrication bay of a garage and was vile. The garden birds eschewed it, and our unfussy dog refused even to urinate on it. Finally, my dear husband buried it in the garden, as it appeared not to decompose, even through a hard frost. And, of course, you knew it, punchline - Nothing grew around that part of the garden. Some folk, those brave enough to profer an opinion, have surmised that my chestnuts were mouldy, which is a rather personal, but - one presumes they were referring to the dish - I guess they were just trying to help? Thus, helpful home-bake hints for the nervous cook:

1) Only use ingredients listed in the recipe, do not add bits you think ‘might do instead’

2) Always read a recipe BEFORE you start cooking. Recipes are not research tools for post-disaster analyses, but guides, if hopeful, to a perfect pud.

3) Never cook by committee. People who ‘join you’ in the kitchen need to be ‘advised’ to get lost. Last time folk were ‘trying to help’ me, the steam-basket dried out and melted into the broccoli. So much for healthy eating.

4) Never - and this one is for Mother - try to open a glass bottle of fizzy pop using a door-frame (to clamp the top and twist the bottle). Although it is a dramatic party-piece and a unforgettable ice-breaker, 5 hours in a London Accident and Emergency Unit to leads to over-cooked meat.

So, hope you find the above helpful. The next generation need a new approach to food knowledge as we attempt to ween ourselves from industrially-produced garbage, and it is down to us, the wiser ones, to provide it. Proving, once more, that irony is not dead, just feeling a bit queazy after one of my cakes.

Happy 2016