In the wee days of my baking ventures there was one thing that I went berserk for: frozen shortcrust pastry. I loved it. Loooooved it.
Not so much because it baked beautifully, held its shape or had whatever other amiable properties a dough should have to be celebrated in the food blogging world. No, my fondness for this product was due only to the fact that I could snack on it in its purest unbaked, just-thawed form.
This partiality for eating raw dough is an innate trait I have inherited from my mother and to which I have resolutely stood by. Nothing could deter me, not salmonella, not even the threat of having flies in my belly from uncooked flour. The intense taste and soft consistency of any dough or batter is and will always remain unbeatable to me.
