Last week, armed with a baking tin, a tiny bit of cocoa powder and lots of sweets, I made a Very Hungry Caterpillar birthday cake. It was delicious, but it wasn't beautiful enough for me.
Next, as Super Monkey practice, I made a very accurate and very banana-y Banana Cake:
Both were better than nothing (I won't say anything here about my attempt at flapjack, though) but I was missing a certain panache. I needed to learn from the professionals. So I set out to Harajuku, the style hub of Tokyo in search of the Candy Artisans.
And I found them.
I watched them, delighted, as they rolled out huge slabs of hot, pink sugar...
And I gasped as they brought out a solid sugar cylinder and rolled the slab around it like wrapping paper
Then, they rolled
And kept on rolling until the whole lot was as thin as a pencil. But mesmerised as I was, it didn't take me long to realise that there was one Big Problem. In the middle of the candy roll, staring out at me, was a very unhappy face:
Before I could work out exactly who had been sacrificed to the Gods of sugar, I fled.
Beware. Don't eat too many sweets. Or the Candymen of Harajuku might get you.
Perhaps 'home made' is best, after all.
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