Conquering the Jelly Slice

So, in honour of my Creative Cooking Challenge, I dug out a packet of jelly crystals, and decided to have a go at making jelly slice.


But first there's a story behind the jelly slice.


My very first real boyfriend dumped me after 6 months of "going out" (I was a pimply, opinionated 15 year old at the time), and before I had dried my eyes, he had hooked up with some other girl, slightly older, whose family happened to know my family. It all seems slightly dodgy to me, but let us not get side-tracked from the real story.


This other girl did not even have one pimple, and to top it off, she was an absolute whizzkid in the kitchen. She churned out upside-down-pineapple cakes, and, her crowning glory - jelly slice. I had never even managed to make jelly, let alone jelly slice. At every social occasion, there she was, basking in the compliments about how her jelly slice was just the most delicious thing ever. And I was sitting in the corner, feeling as big as an ant. Eating jelly slice.


It goes without saying, that, until I set my affections onto another member of the male species, I was beside myself, with pimple-envy, and culinary-envy.


Ever since then, I have coveted that jelly slice. Not the boyfriend, you understand. The jelly slice. Just so we're clear.


So, I thought it was high time to break the spell of the jelly slice. It was time for me to take back my power, regain my self-esteem....blah, blah, blah.


And, to my delight, the jelly slice actually turned out.

Okay. So perhaps not quite as perfect as the-whizzkid-with-no-pimples, but still...Not too shabby for a first attempt.


(And there's more....This slice is special. I even made the condensed milk from scratch! So there.)


I was so excited by this culinary triumph, I almost considered not letting anyone eat it, just so as I could continue to admire my handiwork, but then I relented.


Hubby said: "Mmmm. This is the best thing you've ever made".


Four year old said: "This is so delicious Mum! I want some more".


Bless their little hearts.


And in other domestic news, this evening I attempted to do my first iron-on patch to mend hubby's clothes. It didn't really go to plan. (Have I mentioned I'm not very domesticated?)


I was busy imagining how hubby would be feeling some pleased with himself, after getting jelly slice, and his clothes mended, all in the one day(!!), that I forgot to read the instructions properly. The bit where it says "Not suitable for nylon material".


Oh, well. Guess you can't win 'em all....