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Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 06, 2016

The Never Ending Therapy of The Vince Guaraldi Trio

I spent my lunch hour yesterday searching for something that would be perfect to take to the twin mom's Bingo party tonight. Unlike funerals where one would search the "freezes beautifully" section of food.com I was looking for "something that moms who wipe more butts than most people can imagine" would enjoy. This usually involves chocolate or booze or both. I settled on something called a chocolate chip toffee brittle. As I drove through the woods headed to the grocery a thought floated through my head in my mother's voice, "Apparently named by someone who doesn't actually know what brittle is."
That snark was so real, so accurate and on point with something my mom would've said that I began to cry driving through the stupid storm that was picking up. The road I was headed down doesn't have much for street lights so I sniffled and tried to get ahold of myself. It's a perfect road to slide over a bit too far accidentally and slam into oncoming traffic.
Right about then is when the Vince Guaraldi Trio saved me.

Most people know the Vince Guaraldi Trio quite well thanks to their work providing music for the Peanuts. That in itself is nearly enough to put anyone in a happier place. When I was in college though, I learned that the chart Linus and Lucy has magical stress relieving powers. It worked like this...

The basement of the music department at my university was where all of the practice rooms where. Dank, cool little rooms down one cement block hallway painted what was probably a cream color in some past decade. The doors would be closed and you'd hear the same bars over and over, rarely a whole piece. You'd hear the fingering that was tricky, you'd hear the notes that were always being over or under blown, you'd hear music dissected, pulled apart, into the pieces that the listener doesn't always discern but the musician has to master to make it whole. I was a secondary music education major and also a world class procrastinator. This meant that I spent more than my fair share of time in practice rooms LATE in the day. 

Nearly every room was fitted with a grand piano, if not there was an upright shoved into the corner. There was something soothing and peaceful about being in the womb of that sterile place with music floating through the air. It wasn't comfortable, yet it was a place I liked to be. It was like being with your tribe, even though everyone was in a room alone struggling with bars that were defeating them.

As the evenings would progress the stress level would increase. People were getting tired, there was other studying to do. But the music also had to be practiced. When the event horizon of stress and sleep deprivation was reached - a door would open and suddenly you'd hear the base line being plunked out. 

Another door would open, and join in.

Within moments doors were opening down the hall and the familiar tune of Linus and Lucy would thunder and echo through the halls courtesy of 20 or so music students having a stress break. Banging away at the keyboard, playing those notes of our childhood joy for no reason at all other than the peer pressure of it was one of the most cathartic moments of my life. We struggled with 8 bars of this or 4 bars of that BUT As God As My Witness, we'd all master Linus and Lucy and make it ours. It was a concert of one song, played loudly and with joy. It was a musical stress scream that let out our frustrations and reminded us what we loved, music.

As I pulled into the grocery store parking lot yesterday I realized I was smiling, remembering how happy that stupid tune used to make me. It could take away the stress and how annoyed or bad I was feeling about what I was working on. 

I guess it still works.

The Never Ending Therapy of The Vince Guaraldi Trio

I spent my lunch hour yesterday searching for something that would be perfect to take to the twin mom's Bingo party tonight. Unlike funerals where one would search the "freezes beautifully" section of food.com I was looking for "something that moms who wipe more butts than most people can imagine" would enjoy. This usually involves chocolate or booze or both. I settled on something called a chocolate chip toffee brittle. As I drove through the woods headed to the grocery a thought floated through my head in my mother's voice, "Apparently named by someone who doesn't actually know what brittle is."
That snark was so real, so accurate and on point with something my mom would've said that I began to cry driving through the stupid storm that was picking up. The road I was headed down doesn't have much for street lights so I sniffled and tried to get ahold of myself. It's a perfect road to slide over a bit too far accidentally and slam into oncoming traffic.
Right about then is when the Vince Guaraldi Trio saved me.

Most people know the Vince Guaraldi Trio quite well thanks to their work providing music for the Peanuts. That in itself is nearly enough to put anyone in a happier place. When I was in college though, I learned that the chart Linus and Lucy has magical stress relieving powers. It worked like this...

The basement of the music department at my university was where all of the practice rooms where. Dank, cool little rooms down one cement block hallway painted what was probably a cream color in some past decade. The doors would be closed and you'd hear the same bars over and over, rarely a whole piece. You'd hear the fingering that was tricky, you'd hear the notes that were always being over or under blown, you'd hear music dissected, pulled apart, into the pieces that the listener doesn't always discern but the musician has to master to make it whole. I was a secondary music education major and also a world class procrastinator. This meant that I spent more than my fair share of time in practice rooms LATE in the day. 

Nearly every room was fitted with a grand piano, if not there was an upright shoved into the corner. There was something soothing and peaceful about being in the womb of that sterile place with music floating through the air. It wasn't comfortable, yet it was a place I liked to be. It was like being with your tribe, even though everyone was in a room alone struggling with bars that were defeating them.

As the evenings would progress the stress level would increase. People were getting tired, there was other studying to do. But the music also had to be practiced. When the event horizon of stress and sleep deprivation was reached - a door would open and suddenly you'd hear the base line being plunked out. 

Another door would open, and join in.

Within moments doors were opening down the hall and the familiar tune of Linus and Lucy would thunder and echo through the halls courtesy of 20 or so music students having a stress break. Banging away at the keyboard, playing those notes of our childhood joy for no reason at all other than the peer pressure of it was one of the most cathartic moments of my life. We struggled with 8 bars of this or 4 bars of that BUT As God As My Witness, we'd all master Linus and Lucy and make it ours. It was a concert of one song, played loudly and with joy. It was a musical stress scream that let out our frustrations and reminded us what we loved, music.

As I pulled into the grocery store parking lot yesterday I realized I was smiling, remembering how happy that stupid tune used to make me. It could take away the stress and how annoyed or bad I was feeling about what I was working on. 

I guess it still works.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Match My Overcompensation

When I was growing up Mom always told me when I didn't feel good I should dress up. I'd feel better with my face on, a pretty dress, something that outwardly said LOOK HOW AWESOME I AM. There is some truth in that, some sort of Tony Robbins gibberish where how you outwardly behave then impacts how people treat you and then how people treat you impacts how you feel yadda yadda yadda.
It kinda works, is my point.

I have a similar tactic for when life is exploding in various forms with my kids. The more crazy autism is making my life and me, the more I dig in to some Betty Crocker- Pioneer woman version of myself. Yesterday was one of those days.

Miles has this thing where he demands I change him when he poops. That doesn't sound unreasonable, actually, and it isn't. I certainly wouldn't want to go around with poop in my pants. However Miles also has a sensory issue with poop. So - and now this is where it gets GRAPHIC so go ahead and look away now. I'm warning you.

He'll poop one tiny smidget of poop. A WEE poop. THEN, at THAT moment he'll start shouting in my face "POOP! POOP!" Yesterday by 9 am he'd done it six times. 'Why don't you set him on the potty?' you might ask with great incredulity because you've raised kids and know a thing or two about potty training. Well, gentle reader, I do. Frequently but not as frequently as I should. The main reason for this is simply that he tends to scream the whole time and frankly sometimes I'm just not fucking up to it.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm human. Sometimes I'm just doing my best to function and what that includes is a level of skilled nursing I wasn't prepared to have to live. Sometimes chaos wins.

Yesterday however, I drank a bunch of coffee and pinned a bunch of workouts on Pinterest (because that burns calories amirite?) and decided I wasn't going to let the day be so very fucked. I was going to be a good MOM WHO DID THINGS WITH HER KIDS instead of some mom trying to dungeon in World of Warcraft on her very wittily named Demon Hunter (Murdurhobo, her name is Murdurhobo - I slay me) anyway I was going to DO STUFF.

Miles was my main trouble maker so I decided we'd bake something, anything, because he LOVES to help bake. My mom left me with a terrible applesauce bread recipe. I mean, it's just not good. I'd vowed for a long time to find a new one, mainly because she used to make some version of applesauce bread that was good and not like the recipe. I found one on the internet and Miles and I spent some quality time stirring and mixing.
In fact it was enough activity for him to chill him the eff out for a while. He got bored with planned activity when I put it into the oven and decided to go watch youtube videos of hotel commercials and people making pretend food out of playdoh (that's a thing, no really).

That was right about when Julia and Louis started fighting. He likes to tell her the shows she watches either aren't real or are stupid. He does this because he's 14. She then starts sobbing and gets mad and yells about how he ruins everything and it's just this whole brother/sister dynamic that is both soul sucking and annoying as hell. At that point I enlisted her to go with me outside to gather pinecones and some more firewood. 

She thinks that it's great, trudging through the forest edge, picking up pine cones and to top it off it was actually cold outside so it took her mind off the injustice that had been wrought by Shimmer and Shine being criticized. 
Adding things to the fire, twigs, pine cones, witches, is entertaining to the kids and so we sat and burned various things from the woods for a while and no one thought to be critical of a talking sponge who lives in a pineapple while we did it. 

This peace lasted a while. But the sun had to set and with it came more fighting, more demands for a diaper, time on the toilet with screaming the likes of which not heard since Torquemada was around, and general wearing down of my I AM A GOOD MOM I AM SPENDING TIME WITH MY KIDS mentality. 

I did choose a workout and did it and I admit I felt some better. I felt less like crying and screaming so that was a plus. It cleared my head to enough to realize it was time to do some more together stuff so I decided to make a potato side dish I'd seen online and Miles could help with - there was stirring involved. Julia came to consider helping but she was busy being Elsa apparently so it was just me and Miles. He ate a piece of raw potato and seemed upset with me that it wasn't as tasty as raw batter. While he stirred and I chopped, the sounds of Elsa and her brother playing Battlefront came from the living room - there was peace in the Empire apparently, after all.
These potatoes? Pretty damn good if I do say so myself. 

I cleaned up dinner and loaded the dishwasher and realized I HAD SURVIVED a day. It wasn't the worst day. It wasn't a cry in the shower because the world is so wrong day. My husband just had them for three solid days while I was gone and he needed a day away to watch football and chill -so it's not like I was unduly abandoned.

I'm not sure if my need to over-compensate when I'm so frustrated works well or if it just makes me super exhausted in the end. I just know it's my go-to coping tool so in it's own way I suppose it works for me. 

What I do know is that at the end of the day we five sat around a fire watching Luke learn about his heritage and snuggled as though there had been no stress in our day. There had been no fighting, no tantrums, no hysterical screaming when asked to use the potty. It was just us, snuggled up and in various stages of nodding off, happy and loving each other.

I guess that's the goal. Achievement unlocked - Happy Kids.

Match My Overcompensation

When I was growing up Mom always told me when I didn't feel good I should dress up. I'd feel better with my face on, a pretty dress, something that outwardly said LOOK HOW AWESOME I AM. There is some truth in that, some sort of Tony Robbins gibberish where how you outwardly behave then impacts how people treat you and then how people treat you impacts how you feel yadda yadda yadda.
It kinda works, is my point.

I have a similar tactic for when life is exploding in various forms with my kids. The more crazy autism is making my life and me, the more I dig in to some Betty Crocker- Pioneer woman version of myself. Yesterday was one of those days.

Miles has this thing where he demands I change him when he poops. That doesn't sound unreasonable, actually, and it isn't. I certainly wouldn't want to go around with poop in my pants. However Miles also has a sensory issue with poop. So - and now this is where it gets GRAPHIC so go ahead and look away now. I'm warning you.

He'll poop one tiny smidget of poop. A WEE poop. THEN, at THAT moment he'll start shouting in my face "POOP! POOP!" Yesterday by 9 am he'd done it six times. 'Why don't you set him on the potty?' you might ask with great incredulity because you've raised kids and know a thing or two about potty training. Well, gentle reader, I do. Frequently but not as frequently as I should. The main reason for this is simply that he tends to scream the whole time and frankly sometimes I'm just not fucking up to it.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm human. Sometimes I'm just doing my best to function and what that includes is a level of skilled nursing I wasn't prepared to have to live. Sometimes chaos wins.

Yesterday however, I drank a bunch of coffee and pinned a bunch of workouts on Pinterest (because that burns calories amirite?) and decided I wasn't going to let the day be so very fucked. I was going to be a good MOM WHO DID THINGS WITH HER KIDS instead of some mom trying to dungeon in World of Warcraft on her very wittily named Demon Hunter (Murdurhobo, her name is Murdurhobo - I slay me) anyway I was going to DO STUFF.

Miles was my main trouble maker so I decided we'd bake something, anything, because he LOVES to help bake. My mom left me with a terrible applesauce bread recipe. I mean, it's just not good. I'd vowed for a long time to find a new one, mainly because she used to make some version of applesauce bread that was good and not like the recipe. I found one on the internet and Miles and I spent some quality time stirring and mixing.
In fact it was enough activity for him to chill him the eff out for a while. He got bored with planned activity when I put it into the oven and decided to go watch youtube videos of hotel commercials and people making pretend food out of playdoh (that's a thing, no really).

That was right about when Julia and Louis started fighting. He likes to tell her the shows she watches either aren't real or are stupid. He does this because he's 14. She then starts sobbing and gets mad and yells about how he ruins everything and it's just this whole brother/sister dynamic that is both soul sucking and annoying as hell. At that point I enlisted her to go with me outside to gather pinecones and some more firewood. 

She thinks that it's great, trudging through the forest edge, picking up pine cones and to top it off it was actually cold outside so it took her mind off the injustice that had been wrought by Shimmer and Shine being criticized. 
Adding things to the fire, twigs, pine cones, witches, is entertaining to the kids and so we sat and burned various things from the woods for a while and no one thought to be critical of a talking sponge who lives in a pineapple while we did it. 

This peace lasted a while. But the sun had to set and with it came more fighting, more demands for a diaper, time on the toilet with screaming the likes of which not heard since Torquemada was around, and general wearing down of my I AM A GOOD MOM I AM SPENDING TIME WITH MY KIDS mentality. 

I did choose a workout and did it and I admit I felt some better. I felt less like crying and screaming so that was a plus. It cleared my head to enough to realize it was time to do some more together stuff so I decided to make a potato side dish I'd seen online and Miles could help with - there was stirring involved. Julia came to consider helping but she was busy being Elsa apparently so it was just me and Miles. He ate a piece of raw potato and seemed upset with me that it wasn't as tasty as raw batter. While he stirred and I chopped, the sounds of Elsa and her brother playing Battlefront came from the living room - there was peace in the Empire apparently, after all.
These potatoes? Pretty damn good if I do say so myself. 

I cleaned up dinner and loaded the dishwasher and realized I HAD SURVIVED a day. It wasn't the worst day. It wasn't a cry in the shower because the world is so wrong day. My husband just had them for three solid days while I was gone and he needed a day away to watch football and chill -so it's not like I was unduly abandoned.

I'm not sure if my need to over-compensate when I'm so frustrated works well or if it just makes me super exhausted in the end. I just know it's my go-to coping tool so in it's own way I suppose it works for me. 

What I do know is that at the end of the day we five sat around a fire watching Luke learn about his heritage and snuggled as though there had been no stress in our day. There had been no fighting, no tantrums, no hysterical screaming when asked to use the potty. It was just us, snuggled up and in various stages of nodding off, happy and loving each other.

I guess that's the goal. Achievement unlocked - Happy Kids.

Friday, December 25, 2015

Christmas Thunder

I awoke on both Christmas Eve and Christmas morn to the sound of thunder. (how far off I sat and wondered). It's pouring rain with flood watches and we've had the AC on for two days. At least in Florida it would be properly sunny and hot, this "I'm not really winter but I'm not lovely weather either" business is the worst.
Regardless of the weather that made no sense, we had to get ready for the arrival of Santa! And Santa needs FUEL!
Gingerbread was our choice of Santa fuel this year, and everyone except Charlie wanted to participate. Charlie doesn't like to do anything that smells like work.
I should've given baths after cookie making, as they got messy. Oh well. Julia insisted on making Santa a heart shaped cookie so he would know she loves him.
Miles however is always is always ready to help when it's baking or cooking time. He knows what to do and is ready to participate, but he needed a little help from Louis getting the cookie out of the cutter.
I had put out the "Christmas" themed cutters but Miles and Julia both had their own ideas, and Miles chose a flower -to go with Julia's heart cookie, I guess. But he said flower and was excited about it so, hey, why not?

Louis had to make sure we made some Ninjabread men (thank you Kristine, they're still a hoot) and so with that we got our assembly line of cutting going.
While the cookies cooled I cleaned up a bit and did some other things and while time passed, it seems like a little mouse came in and demolished two cookies and left this one reminder that he was there...
That HAD been a perfect heart cookie for Santa...thank goodness we cut more than one of them. I'm not sure who the mouse was, but strangely, shortly after this tragedy was noticed Charlie appeared desperately needing water. Hmmmm...
Once cooled it was a family effort to get them iced. Julia declared that she had to ice hers pink and put a J on it with decorative candies so Santa would know it was from her.
How could he not know?

We ended our night with much needed parental eggnog, and the nonbooze version for Louis and Charlie. We had some Shrek Christmas on the TV.
I am not sure what Charlie likes more, the eggnog or the homemade whipped cream. Every year we make it homemade and every year I wonder why anyone would ever buy it. Homemade is really just the best, most brilliant thing.
Julia drug out the advent calendars and set to work hunting the number 24. The candy in them is just terrible, I'm kind of surprised. I guess the only ones I ever had in my youth were from Germany and had German chocolate in them. Maybe I will order them from overseas next time?
We set out our special heart shaped cookie and milk and headed to bed. Thunder boomed throughout the night on and off but I don't think Santa much cared.
When I awoke, magic had taken place over night.
And now I wait for the munchkins to awake...

Christmas Thunder

I awoke on both Christmas Eve and Christmas morn to the sound of thunder. (how far off I sat and wondered). It's pouring rain with flood watches and we've had the AC on for two days. At least in Florida it would be properly sunny and hot, this "I'm not really winter but I'm not lovely weather either" business is the worst.
Regardless of the weather that made no sense, we had to get ready for the arrival of Santa! And Santa needs FUEL!
Gingerbread was our choice of Santa fuel this year, and everyone except Charlie wanted to participate. Charlie doesn't like to do anything that smells like work.
I should've given baths after cookie making, as they got messy. Oh well. Julia insisted on making Santa a heart shaped cookie so he would know she loves him.
Miles however is always is always ready to help when it's baking or cooking time. He knows what to do and is ready to participate, but he needed a little help from Louis getting the cookie out of the cutter.
I had put out the "Christmas" themed cutters but Miles and Julia both had their own ideas, and Miles chose a flower -to go with Julia's heart cookie, I guess. But he said flower and was excited about it so, hey, why not?

Louis had to make sure we made some Ninjabread men (thank you Kristine, they're still a hoot) and so with that we got our assembly line of cutting going.
While the cookies cooled I cleaned up a bit and did some other things and while time passed, it seems like a little mouse came in and demolished two cookies and left this one reminder that he was there...
That HAD been a perfect heart cookie for Santa...thank goodness we cut more than one of them. I'm not sure who the mouse was, but strangely, shortly after this tragedy was noticed Charlie appeared desperately needing water. Hmmmm...
Once cooled it was a family effort to get them iced. Julia declared that she had to ice hers pink and put a J on it with decorative candies so Santa would know it was from her.
How could he not know?

We ended our night with much needed parental eggnog, and the nonbooze version for Louis and Charlie. We had some Shrek Christmas on the TV.
I am not sure what Charlie likes more, the eggnog or the homemade whipped cream. Every year we make it homemade and every year I wonder why anyone would ever buy it. Homemade is really just the best, most brilliant thing.
Julia drug out the advent calendars and set to work hunting the number 24. The candy in them is just terrible, I'm kind of surprised. I guess the only ones I ever had in my youth were from Germany and had German chocolate in them. Maybe I will order them from overseas next time?
We set out our special heart shaped cookie and milk and headed to bed. Thunder boomed throughout the night on and off but I don't think Santa much cared.
When I awoke, magic had taken place over night.
And now I wait for the munchkins to awake...

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Divinity Inspired

When I was little there was a shop still open downtown that was a leftover from the days of bobbiesocks and saddle shoes. (The pic below is actually from there from the 40s)

It was a proper soda fountain and it had a jukebox that hadn't been updated in more than a decade. They did serve some odd sandwiches, the usual assortment of soda fountain drinks and snack type foods. But the thing that was the best there was the CANDY.

Mom and I didn't have a car so we'd walk downtown to go shopping while dad was at work. We'd go to the dime store (Woolworth's), the fabric store and anywhere else she needed to stop. For a treat, we'd go to Nick's.

At Nick's we'd get ONE of something because we weren't rich. I would choose a chocolate of some sort, probably a maple cream because his were truly the butteriest, meltiest maple creams ever made. My  mom would always choose divinity. We'd walk home together, later we'd be pushing Matt's stroller, and she'd talk about how hard divinity is to make and that was why she always got it there instead of making it.

One day I tried it and I was hooked. Divinity is a weird vanilla-sugar pillow of sweetness that is chewy and sticky and honestly it's just delicious when made well. When made poorly it's still really good.

This Christmas I decided I would make divinity.
True things that happened while making this yesterday.

  1. I separated eggs with my hand like a damn chef on Iron Chef or Chopped. 
  2. I made meringue for the first time ever - and it wasn't hard at all so what the hell is with people acting like that's a thing? Beat eggs. They fluff. 
  3. I realized they were not shitting that it would've been easier with a STAND mixer.
  4. Parchment paper is not wax paper. Ooops. I actually knew that, I just forgot which one I was using. I used the wrong one.
The recipe said that it might be too difficult with a hand mixer due to it would become very thick, and you have to mix for over ten minutes. I probably made the ten minutes but when my little cheapie hand mixer began to whine I called it. I was supposed to mix until it became no longer shiny - but honestly I couldn't go that long, I would've lost the mixer. 

I decided to pour it into a pan because I've always had divinity that was in a sheet and cut into squares and honestly this mixture was like fire hot velcro, you bring it up to hard ball stage before you drop it into the meringue. Getting this fiery mess into little pretty balls - I wasn't up to it. 

I chose the Betty Crocker recipe because it's always been my experience that if I don't know how to make something, the Betty Crocker version is for me. It said it had to sit for 12 hours and I was pretty disappointed into last night. It was more like taffy. I kept thinking, man, what did I do? I got the temperature right. Did I not get enough of the egg white into the bowl? Did I not make a big enough meringue (dude it was two eggs it would only get SO big).

WHAT DID I DO WRONG?

I woke up this morning, and while my coffee brewed I pulled out the pan, lined with misbegotten parchment paper, and SON OF A BITCH...

It's divinity.

I am so excited. It's not perfect like Nick's but it's my first pass at it. I am gonna try it again soon and it's going to be a lot better. I might even try to make little balls after all. 

Divinity Inspired

When I was little there was a shop still open downtown that was a leftover from the days of bobbiesocks and saddle shoes. (The pic below is actually from there from the 40s)

It was a proper soda fountain and it had a jukebox that hadn't been updated in more than a decade. They did serve some odd sandwiches, the usual assortment of soda fountain drinks and snack type foods. But the thing that was the best there was the CANDY.

Mom and I didn't have a car so we'd walk downtown to go shopping while dad was at work. We'd go to the dime store (Woolworth's), the fabric store and anywhere else she needed to stop. For a treat, we'd go to Nick's.

At Nick's we'd get ONE of something because we weren't rich. I would choose a chocolate of some sort, probably a maple cream because his were truly the butteriest, meltiest maple creams ever made. My  mom would always choose divinity. We'd walk home together, later we'd be pushing Matt's stroller, and she'd talk about how hard divinity is to make and that was why she always got it there instead of making it.

One day I tried it and I was hooked. Divinity is a weird vanilla-sugar pillow of sweetness that is chewy and sticky and honestly it's just delicious when made well. When made poorly it's still really good.

This Christmas I decided I would make divinity.
True things that happened while making this yesterday.

  1. I separated eggs with my hand like a damn chef on Iron Chef or Chopped. 
  2. I made meringue for the first time ever - and it wasn't hard at all so what the hell is with people acting like that's a thing? Beat eggs. They fluff. 
  3. I realized they were not shitting that it would've been easier with a STAND mixer.
  4. Parchment paper is not wax paper. Ooops. I actually knew that, I just forgot which one I was using. I used the wrong one.
The recipe said that it might be too difficult with a hand mixer due to it would become very thick, and you have to mix for over ten minutes. I probably made the ten minutes but when my little cheapie hand mixer began to whine I called it. I was supposed to mix until it became no longer shiny - but honestly I couldn't go that long, I would've lost the mixer. 

I decided to pour it into a pan because I've always had divinity that was in a sheet and cut into squares and honestly this mixture was like fire hot velcro, you bring it up to hard ball stage before you drop it into the meringue. Getting this fiery mess into little pretty balls - I wasn't up to it. 

I chose the Betty Crocker recipe because it's always been my experience that if I don't know how to make something, the Betty Crocker version is for me. It said it had to sit for 12 hours and I was pretty disappointed into last night. It was more like taffy. I kept thinking, man, what did I do? I got the temperature right. Did I not get enough of the egg white into the bowl? Did I not make a big enough meringue (dude it was two eggs it would only get SO big).

WHAT DID I DO WRONG?

I woke up this morning, and while my coffee brewed I pulled out the pan, lined with misbegotten parchment paper, and SON OF A BITCH...

It's divinity.

I am so excited. It's not perfect like Nick's but it's my first pass at it. I am gonna try it again soon and it's going to be a lot better. I might even try to make little balls after all. 

Monday, December 07, 2015

Healthier Dessert Pshaw

Well we're doing a thing at work and it's themed UGLY SWEATERS and Healthier Dessert.

I was thinking a lot about what to make and remembered we had this really great thing at my mom's funeral. How weird is that? "What should I make, oh yes there was that lovely thing at mom's funeral let's make that!"

Except that it was really good. Don't get me wrong, it didn't look particularly good, but my brother said someone had brought it for the family dinner for him because he loves it. So I took some even though I'm not really eating a lot of sweets these days and damn. It was amazing.

My memory of this dessert is sitting at a table with my best friends in the world, the people who knew me before I was the me I am now, the people who still get me no matter what, and having this dessert. The whole day was so fucked up and surreal. My Aunt Suzie was spoon feeding my dad. The kids were running around and eating sweets like crazy, and frankly I was into it as well.

And this dessert, well damn it was just so good. "This is sinful," I declared.

So I decided today to make this "healthier". I think it's healthier than lard. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

There are about a billion versions of this online, but I chose Rachel Ray's because I figure it should be good.

Healthier Dessert Pshaw

Well we're doing a thing at work and it's themed UGLY SWEATERS and Healthier Dessert.

I was thinking a lot about what to make and remembered we had this really great thing at my mom's funeral. How weird is that? "What should I make, oh yes there was that lovely thing at mom's funeral let's make that!"

Except that it was really good. Don't get me wrong, it didn't look particularly good, but my brother said someone had brought it for the family dinner for him because he loves it. So I took some even though I'm not really eating a lot of sweets these days and damn. It was amazing.

My memory of this dessert is sitting at a table with my best friends in the world, the people who knew me before I was the me I am now, the people who still get me no matter what, and having this dessert. The whole day was so fucked up and surreal. My Aunt Suzie was spoon feeding my dad. The kids were running around and eating sweets like crazy, and frankly I was into it as well.

And this dessert, well damn it was just so good. "This is sinful," I declared.

So I decided today to make this "healthier". I think it's healthier than lard. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

There are about a billion versions of this online, but I chose Rachel Ray's because I figure it should be good.

Sunday, December 06, 2015

Sacrificial Pancakes Vs. Cookies

When I was a kid Grandpa Drake made the best pancakes on the planet Earth. It was the ultimate treat to wake up on a weekend morning at their house, especially in the winter, and have those hot steamy pancakes before going to church with Grandma. They were the best pancakes ever, and after he died I spent a good amount of time trying to recreate them.

Christa and I spent a lot of Saturdays or Sundays at Grandmas, making Aunt Jemima pancake mix, or Log Cabin pancake mix, always thinking our pancakes were quite tasty but never quite making the grade of "Grandpas" pancakes.

I always wondered if it was just the magic of it being GRANDPA that made them that caused them to be so good, but then one day I saw this.
OH.

Yeah.

There it is.

And forever after I had the magic within me as well to make pancakes.

I'm pretty good at it. I disagree with Alton Brown (sorry dude) and don't reduce the amount of butter in my pan because butter crispy goodness around the edges is part of what makes my pancakes AMAZING.  I've made a lot of pancakes over my 47 years, these days I usually make them for my family on a weekend or holiday, because some how actually making a proper breakfast has become a special event in this world but that's a whole other subject. (Not nother subject. Nother is not word.)

What I was thinking about this morning was this. When I bake cookies, cookies are this science of chemistry that you simply follow the instructions and they turn out properly. Baking is SCIENCE. Baking always works out if you do it all exactly as it says to do. (Aside - providing the recipe provides all the info you need, and you actually DID it all as it said no don't whine to me, you probably didn't did you? Admit it. You skipped stuff. You didn't combine wet and dry apart form one another did you?) Anyway, cooking usually looks like this at my house. It's a fun magical time of us combining things and delicious wonder occurs.
Then there's the matter at hand from this morning, PANCAKES.

What's the deal with pancakes that no matter how hard I try, how diligent I am at following the instructions there is always ONE sacrificial pancake?
I try to wait out to make sure it's been long enough to flip. I make sure the pan is properly hot before I drop batter in. I do everything I would do for every SUBSEQUENT PANCAKE  yet each and every time, in my entire pancake making existence, ONE PANCAKE GOES TO THE PANCAKE GODS.

Also, don't google PANCAKE GODS. Weird stuff shows up.

So every time I make pancakes, I try to save that first pancake. I do everything I can imagine but every time, every single farking time, the pancakes gods take their sacrifice. I must know that the first pancake will go awry somewhere in my heart, because I normally make them two at a time but that first one goes in solo. I've surrendered before I start I guess.

I guess I'm just glad there are no cookie gods, I would lose my mind if I lost a dozen cookies every single time I bake.
There you see the sacrificial pancake on the alter, surrounded by butter. We barely knew thee.

Sacrificial Pancakes Vs. Cookies

When I was a kid Grandpa Drake made the best pancakes on the planet Earth. It was the ultimate treat to wake up on a weekend morning at their house, especially in the winter, and have those hot steamy pancakes before going to church with Grandma. They were the best pancakes ever, and after he died I spent a good amount of time trying to recreate them.

Christa and I spent a lot of Saturdays or Sundays at Grandmas, making Aunt Jemima pancake mix, or Log Cabin pancake mix, always thinking our pancakes were quite tasty but never quite making the grade of "Grandpas" pancakes.

I always wondered if it was just the magic of it being GRANDPA that made them that caused them to be so good, but then one day I saw this.
OH.

Yeah.

There it is.

And forever after I had the magic within me as well to make pancakes.

I'm pretty good at it. I disagree with Alton Brown (sorry dude) and don't reduce the amount of butter in my pan because butter crispy goodness around the edges is part of what makes my pancakes AMAZING.  I've made a lot of pancakes over my 47 years, these days I usually make them for my family on a weekend or holiday, because some how actually making a proper breakfast has become a special event in this world but that's a whole other subject. (Not nother subject. Nother is not word.)

What I was thinking about this morning was this. When I bake cookies, cookies are this science of chemistry that you simply follow the instructions and they turn out properly. Baking is SCIENCE. Baking always works out if you do it all exactly as it says to do. (Aside - providing the recipe provides all the info you need, and you actually DID it all as it said no don't whine to me, you probably didn't did you? Admit it. You skipped stuff. You didn't combine wet and dry apart form one another did you?) Anyway, cooking usually looks like this at my house. It's a fun magical time of us combining things and delicious wonder occurs.
Then there's the matter at hand from this morning, PANCAKES.

What's the deal with pancakes that no matter how hard I try, how diligent I am at following the instructions there is always ONE sacrificial pancake?
I try to wait out to make sure it's been long enough to flip. I make sure the pan is properly hot before I drop batter in. I do everything I would do for every SUBSEQUENT PANCAKE  yet each and every time, in my entire pancake making existence, ONE PANCAKE GOES TO THE PANCAKE GODS.

Also, don't google PANCAKE GODS. Weird stuff shows up.

So every time I make pancakes, I try to save that first pancake. I do everything I can imagine but every time, every single farking time, the pancakes gods take their sacrifice. I must know that the first pancake will go awry somewhere in my heart, because I normally make them two at a time but that first one goes in solo. I've surrendered before I start I guess.

I guess I'm just glad there are no cookie gods, I would lose my mind if I lost a dozen cookies every single time I bake.
There you see the sacrificial pancake on the alter, surrounded by butter. We barely knew thee.