The oliebollen stall has appeared on my ride home from work, taunting me with it's delicious scent of deep-fried dough. Every night, I put turn my head away and press on, cycling past at speed and resisting temptation. And what temptation! Oliebollen with currents. Oliebollen with apple. Coated in icing sugar or just plain. Mmmm, oliebollen. Why don't I just give in and buy one? After all, I'm usually on my way home after a gym session, I'm not overly lardy, and they're certainly cheap enough. Well, just as Playschool has left me feeling like a worthless parasite, so the Atkins diet fad of 2003 has resulted in residual guilt about the consuming of carbs. Oliebollen are pure carb - heavy balls of dough, deep-fried (probably in horse fat), and dunked in sugar: Dr Atkins and his acolytes would not approve. And oliebollen linger leadenly in your stomach, slowly working their fatty way onto your hips and thighs. Their nutritional "value" might be just the ticket if you're hoeing fields or baling hay; not so good when you're merely scything through mixed metaphors and passive structures with a red pen. My torment isn't long-lived though - the oliebollen sellers will move on after Christmas, and I'll have to make do with stroopwafels and drop until Queen's Day and the appearance of butter-drenched poffertjes coated in, yes, icing sugar. No wonder the Dutch are so tall.
I'm cooking: chocolate chip cookies
I'm reading: Natural History by Justina Robson
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