Annnnd just like that Valentine’s Day was almost here. (Cue all the singletons across the globe drizzing into their pint of Ben & Jerry’s – where’s Bridget Jones when you need her, hey?)


Anywhoo, massive knickers and social awkwardness aside, I feel like good old V-Day has the tendency to make people a little cray… Sure, I’m a firm believer in the fact that we’re all a little pyscho (some just hide it better than others). But you know those seemingly peaceful, well put-together people who hide their shit to the point where their imbalances boil over with disastrous circumstances? That, my friends, is what I like to call “Namas-cray”. I suppose it all comes down to how well we channel our issues to prevent that “Jekyll and Hyde” effect. I for one recently invested in a yoga mat in an attempt to get a handle on my stress levels and indirectly, my own brand of cray-vy.*

*Disclaimer: the purchase of said yoga mat does in no way mean I’m trading the Air Max for vegan sandals, lentils, and dream catchers. Okay, that’s a helluva generalization but you get it. Shout out to yoga people, though. That shit’s tough. It’s zen AF but it’s also unbelievably ghetto. How so? I have bruises on my triceps from doing arm balances. Safe to say it’s done wonders for my street cred!


I was, however, brave (delusional) enough to do a 90-minute hot yoga session. Look, it was about forty times the heat of Mordor, I was sweating from my soul, and at regular intervals, I think I saw my ancestors. Bottom line: it ain’t for sissies. I made it out alive… I think. Unless I actually perished from drowning in my own sweat and my ghost is also pretty keen on blogging. Shout out to Guru Cat, y’all bitches are hectic and pushed me to my limits.

Anyways back to that V-Day cray. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s SO real. You know, the hopeless romantics start buying and naming stars, planets, and even 3rd world countries after their beloved… and it’s quite possibly only been three months. “It must be loooove, looooove, loooove…”


Then the aforementioned singletons put down the Ben & Jerry’s and do one of the following: 1) They submit their application for the gazillionth season of “The Bachelor” and/or “Bachelorette.” Hey, love’s gotta be out there, you know? (Side note: I say “and/or” because if you’re on the market for both, you don’t have to halve your playing field…)

2) They call up their BBF’s (who are single and haven’t abandoned them as yet) for a night out throwing-name. Until around 11:57pm, when the vodka-lime makes us cry for the guy who dumped us in matric. Dick!


3) They opt for a night in watching chick-flicks. Until that part in “The Notebook” when Ryan Gosling says,”It wasn’t over… It still isn’t over!” After which of course, the lethal combination of Rosé and romance makes us cry for the guy who dumped us in matric. PROPER Dick!


If you’ve already got a ball and chain (and by that I mean a loving relationship) you’re probably going to rush out to Woolies and buy some outrageously marked up box of chocolates and a silly card even though you swore blind a week before that it was just a useless consumerist holiday. It’s okay, we’ve all done it.


I guess you could say that’s the thing about love. It makes you do shit you swore you’d never do. Some good, some bad, and some even illegal. It’s got the power to make anyone go a little Jeremy Loopy, if I’m being honest. Sure, no one wants to end up in a relationship with someone who has undeniable serial killer tendencies but what you really need to do is find that guy or gal whose cray makes an exceptional side dish for yours.

This week’s post pays homage to my Ice-queen Ice Cream Sandwiches. I haven’t always been lucky or (all that lovely) when it comes to love, but I hit the lottery when I met Ryan. It was random, unexpected and it wasn’t something I’d planned to get into, but he has seen every flavour of cray and still keeps coming back for more. Thanks, babe!


These Ice-queen Ice Cream Sandwiches are delicious, cheap and deceptively simple. Keep a batch in your freezer for singleton movie nights, awkward first dates, break up parties and when you have… erm, company.


I like to think that because the cookies have oats in, that they count as a serving of dietary fibre and that the ice cream is totally your daily allowance of calcium. (You’re welcome). Why not do a little something different for V-Day and stay in? These make a killer dessert, anyhow!


Yours in baking and bitching (because “xoxo” was too mainstream and because we’re all a little namas-cray)



Ice-queen Ice Cream Sandwiches

For the cookies:

1 cup of salted butter (at room temp)

2 cups of dark brown sugar

1 teaspoon of vanilla

2 eggs

1 and 1/2 cups of cake flour

1 teaspoon of salt

12 teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda

3 cups of Jungle Oats

For the ice cream:

1 tub of Woolies Tin Roof (yeah, I know I cheated with the ice cream part. WTF you gonna do about it?)
For assembling: 

White or milk chocolate melted

Toasted macadamia nuts, chopped


  1. Preheat your oven to 180 degrees C.
  2. Beat together the butter and sugar until fluffy. Beat in the vanilla and the eggs one at a time. Be sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl as you go.
  3. Combine the rest of the dry ingredients and add it in three batches to the egg mix.
  4. Mix in the oats until just combined.
  5. Place tablespoons full of mixture onto a tray lined with baking paper. Space the cookies well apart as they spread out a bit when cooking.
  6. Bake for 15 minutes or longer if you want them crunchier.
  7. Leave to cool completely.
  8. Sandwich them with a scoop of ice cream, dip one end into melted chocolate and sprinkle with the toasted nuts. Leave to set in the freezer before placing in a ziplock bag to store in the freezer.




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