When asked to provide something sweet on an occasion or at an event Jon will make these. I think we both consider them the king of biscuits, dark and buttery, crumbley and a little chewy in the middle with a touch of saltiness and hearty chucks of melt in the mouth chocolate. Although they’re called Green and Blacks, that’s really just the name of the recipe, we’d use basics 30p per bar chocolate. Much sweeter. Jon is an amazing cook and one of the reasons I fell in love with him was that whenever he was present at our mutual friend’s house there was always some gluttonous creation provided by him. He was notorious for it, fridge cake good enough to kill you with one bite. I took some home to my parents after a party one night, before we were together, and my Mum said, “You’ll be marrying him then.” I was probably saying his name too much too. She wasn’t wrong.
6 years ago we hadn’t long finished creating a batch of these tasty beasts ready for our wedding the next day. Personally I think he should be making a batch now too, but there’s more pressing matters, like picking up toys, washing up and playing with gas cookers. Poppy cock, bake good man, bake, bake! Our wedding day was modest but an insanely well organised and highly considered affair. Completely unlike our approach to becoming parents, whoops, but the pressure to create exactly what we want from our children is similar. I do believe that nurture plays a huge part in who we become, as well a nature, but perhaps nurture more so. That’s alot of pressure to put on ourselves, and dumping the boys infront of the television is probably not going to help our boys be the best humans they can, but it happens and the time they’re quiet and engrossed is nice. I guess we want to stick to the Green and Blacks recipe but only put in cheap ingredients and hope just they still taste lovely.
If Jon and I had known we were going to have twin boys would we have still said “I do” 6 years ago? Abso-bloody-lutely! We probably even joked about it, maybe even hoped. We certainly always knew we wanted a boy called Edgar. I warned Jon if he continued to bake biscuits I would continue to blossom, and I have, so has he. I’m amazed he can still love me, currently bra-less, legs akimbo, fringeless, side swipped, greasy hair, high on tramadol and ready for bed at 9pm on a Friday, he’s a lucky man. Perhaps he’d get more lucky if he’d bake me some swirly shortbread.