First, the Hell:
Sunday I performed the annual harvest of the Poison Ivy crop, front and back yard. Ordinarily, all yard work is SNG's problem, but he gets special dispensation from activities involving poison ivy as he inevitably ends up needing rounds of steroid shots followed by a course of oral steroids to counteract the weeping, bleeding, oozing mounds of red, blistered flesh (external and internal). I (knock wood) have never had more than 2 or 3 itchy little blisters, and those might have been ant bites. So I get to do the annual harvest all alone.
In spite of my apparent lack of Ivy allergy, I still wear gloves, a full Tyvek suit with legs tucked into my socks, and a hat. You just never know when an allergy will decide to form. I harvested one leaf-bag full of the stuff, sprayed Ivy killer on whatever I couldn't uproot properly, and threw everything-- Ivy, gloves, socks, Tyvek suit-- into the outside trash can where SNG can't eat it or roll around on it.
And now, the Heaven:
As a reward for my efforts, I made petit fors. Inside-- paper-thin yellow cake layers with red currant jam in between. Outside-- the darkest dark chocolate ganache you've ever seen.
Somebody got to lick the icing spreader:
The recipe was met with full approval from the critics.