Last night I made an apple crumble. I had promised my housemates some time ago that I would, and decided that since it was a Monday, and I didn’t have anything particularly pressing to do, I would bake them a treat.

After I got home from work, in the midst of gobbling up a smoked salmon and avocado salad, and slugging down a chilled glass of white, I also got to peeling the apples. I threw the crumble together with the enthusiasm and fervor of a mad scientist. I didn’t use an actual recipe, beyond the one in my head, but I suppose it was something close to this;

Sonia’s Manic Family Sized Crumble – Serves approx 9people

12 green apples – peeled cored and diced

Mix the apples with – half a cup water, half a cup of caster sugar, a squeeze of lemon, a few pinches of cinnamon.

Crumble:

One cup of flour, one cup brown sugar, one cup oats, a handful of desiccated coconut, a handful of crushed pecans, enough butter to create the right crumbly texture (I used about 3/4 of a cup, but I just added a few chunks and then kept adding until it reached the right consistency). Sprinkle evenly on top of the apples.

Baked on high for about 45 minutes and until golden brown on top.

Anyway, I took the crumble out of the oven, all hot and bubbly, and smelling delicious, and promptly gobbled up a piece with vanilla ice cream. My housemates weren’t ready for crumble. They hadn’t eaten dinner, they were busy watching the football, etc etc, excuses, whatever.

Not wanting to be the crazy ‘I will stare at you while you eat it’ kind of cook, I left the room, with instructions for them to help themselves with gusto and chuck whatever was left (if anything) in the fridge.

Fast forward to this morning. I walk in to the kitchen and open the fridge. The crumble is there. It sits looking at me. Complete, but for the piece I ate the night before. They hadn’t even touched it. Not even a crumb.

I considered the reasons why, as I happily ladled a big spoonful into a bowl to eat for breakfast with a dollop of yogurt. I called my sister in Australia. “I made my housemates a crumble,” I moaned at her, “And they didn’t eat it AT ALL!!” She paused for a moment. “I thought you were going to say that they ate the whole thing and that there was none left,” she said. “And wouldn’t that have been a much worse outcome? Now you can eat it all. I wish I could have a slice.”

She had a point. As I walked to work, I mentally planned the week’s menu. Breakfast – Crumble, Lunch – Salad, Dinner – Crumble, Breakfast – Crumble, Lunch – salad, Dinner – Crumble…

It’s shaping up to be a pretty good week.