What the hell! I though we were friends! Not only has no one been able to comment on my blog in FOREVER, but now I can't even find my dashboard. You've changed. And I don't know if we can stay friends for much longer.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Sometimes I like to bake. Most times I don't. I come from a long line of people who become enraged by the act of baking. When something goes wrong in my sister's kitchen, her dog won't even come in. My mother once hucked a pan of brownies, pan and all, out the front door and across the driveway. When things go wrong, this is me:
So today, I saw a recipe for a Peaches and Cream coffee cake, and it looked so good, I figured I'd make it. (Recipe here, maker beware). It does taste delicious (I didn't use the pie filling, but just canned peaches). But c'mon! See, I mix everything by hand, because I'm Amish like that, and when it came time to add the egg whites, it just wasn't happening. I had sections of cake batter, lubricated by the egg white, just slipping past the wooden spoon. "Madness! I will use the hand mixer!!" The hand mixer, however, didn't like this plan. It sluggishly worked its way through the batter, blending the ingredients, but I could tell it wasn't happy. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was just this side of smoking. A strange thing happened: the batter clung to the beaters, working its way towards the body of the mixer, and I thought, Nay nay, this will never do. It's mixed enough, I'll just get rid of the beaters and mix the rest by hand. This, my friends, is where things went sideways. The batter was completely covering the beaters, so there was nowhere to grip them while they were still in the mixer; thinking I would just drop them out and then clean them off, I lifted them from the bowl. The following is playing through my mind in slow motion: looking at the beaters in front of me, clear of the bowl, I think I should really unplug this before I take them out. But I didn't; the rising tide of batter had covered the cord, and I figured this way, well f#&*, I don't know what I was thinking, other than, Oh God, what a MESS. If only I'd have known.... So there the beaters are, so full of batter, they resembled corn dogs, and I figured I'd just drop them in the bowl, reached for the eject button, and
the f-ing thing
on.My mind, in a blur of panic (I'm not prone to panic, but hearing flack-flack-flack as batter hit every conceivable surface in the kitchen, well, it startled my poor, unemployed brain), went Oh Muh Guh, shut it off!! Which was clearly interpreted as Turn it UP!!
*calm blue ocean. calm blue ocean*
Royston has gotten over his extreme remote related humiliation, and was back to his normal self. Pictures as proof, because I don't want anyone thinking he was beaten with a hose or anything (*ahem* Lori), he just looks like that when he knows he's been bad. But look! Happy hounds in the yard: