Day #323: Confection Perfection

The Story:

“I just need a few more minutes, okay? Just… just go on without me. I’ll meet you there,” Nikki yelled over her shoulder for maybe the eighth time. Frank, her husband, indicated his frustration with what was becoming his least favorite ‘tick’ recently developed by his beloved wife of 15 years. In all that time, save the last year, Nikki had always prided herself on being punctual, something Frank admired greatly. And then, she had discovered baking. From her very first cheesecake, Nikki had slowly developed a bit of neurosis, one in which she never felt quite satisfied with her work. Whether it be the thickness of the icing or the flourish of her garnishes… it never felt quite right.

This of course led to an accumulation of events, dinner dates, PTA meetings and social engagements in which Nikki was decidedly late to. And it was driving Frank insane. They were due at his kid sister’s college graduation dinner about half an hour ago and Nikki couldn’t stop obsessing over the stupid cheesecake she had promised to make. Moving closer to look over his wife’s shoulder to get some idea of how much longer she might be, Frank leaned in and peered down at the dessert.

It looked professionally made but that wasn’t enough for Nikki, she needed to add ‘her touch’ as she referred to it. ‘Her touch’ for this occasion was in the form of three butterflies crafted from lemon wedges and peel flitting across the top of the cheesecake. They looked lovely, delicate and sweet, and Frank for once felt a swell of pride in his wife’s work. “Those look pretty,” he said softly, giving Nikki’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“Pretty? Great… now I’m going to have to start all over!” Nikki exclaimed as she plucked the lemon butterflies off of the cheesecake and threw them in the sink. “I was going for enchanting or whimsical, dainty even… but pretty? I might as well just toss the entire thing!”

Knowing it was best to just keep quite in this situation; Frank silently backed away and left the kitchen. He’d wait fifteen minutes, let her get it all out and then pop back in to see if she had snapped out of it. Sitting down in his easy chair and clicking on the TV, Frank felt relieved that he wasn’t afflicted with any artistic or creative inclinations, they made people nuts as far as he was concerned.

As he flipped through the channels, he wondered if he should have tried to be a bit more vocal from the beginning of this baking endeavor. Had he have spoken up then, perhaps things would be a bit more manageable now. Unfortunately that ship had sailed, as they say, and he had missed the proverbial boat. “Oh well,” he muttered wondering if Nikki had recovered her senses yet in the kitchen. A large part of him hoped she had made good on her threat to toss the entire thing.

The fact of the matter was, Nikki was a horrible baker and Frank well… he just didn’t have the heart to tell her.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Whew! I felt like I was running my own catering biz today as I hustled to whip up enough baked ziti to feed an army, a homemade cheesecake and brownies for tomorrow which is the day of filming for Andy’s short film. I probably spent more time on everything than I really needed to, but my perfectionist persuasion  took over and before I knew it I was individually packaging each brownie in wax paper and a ribbon and spending over half an hour garnishing my cheesecake. I don’t care though, that stuff makes it fun and frankly, I like making food look pretty. Hope it tastes as good as I think it looks… guess we shall see!

Love & Squirrels.

Day #273: The Cheesecake Undoing

The Story:

“Sorry Sally, but I don’t sell them. I make them for my own enjoyment, and occasionally to share with friends,” Tom shyly replied, turning a deep crimson under the dissecting stare of the three women as they chewed slowly.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Tom wondered to himself as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. But, he couldn’t help it. No matter where he went or who he met, it always ended up the same. He would get the urge, and slowly it would grow stronger and stronger until he couldn’t resist it and he would succumb- and bake. Cheesecakes, specifically, seemed to be his downfall- he just couldn’t keep from making them and then sharing them with whomever would accept a slice. And, just like clockwork, those he would share the dessert with would rave about its creaminess and flavor, beg him for the recipe and urge Tom to sell his cheesecakes- they were just too good to keep to himself. This reaction and eventual unwelcomed attention would go on for days.

And then Tom Levingstein would be gone.

Seriously Tom, what is in this? It is soooo gooood...

Moving to a new town, picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them, Tom could never manage to stay put for any more than a month or two. He couldn’t risk being found or tracked and his cheesecakes were the one thing that kept him in constant jeopardy. “If I could only resist the urge to bake… or maybe if they weren’t so good…” he could be heard mumbling to himself. It was no use. Every man has an undoing, and Tom’s was cheesecake.

“Excuse me, Tom Levingstein?” a strange male voice asked from behind Tom as he dropped the sack of scrap metal he had been hauling towards his truck. The tone used by the stranger alerted Tom that he was not asking if he was Tom Levingstein, rather he was confirming it. Despite having used an alias for more than three years, Tom had broken the cardinal rule of living on the run- don’t react when called by your given name. Letting out a deep sigh, Tom turned slowly to face the stranger and the reality that he had finally been found out.

“How’d you find me?” Tom responded, pulling out a soiled handkerchief from his back pocket and slowly began to wipe his hands, hoping the action would mask how badly he hands were shaking. He expected the worst and scanned his surroundings quickly for both an escape route and encroaching law enforcers. Seeing none, he focused again on the man who had discovered him and couldn’t help but frown. “This is the man who’s found me out? This guy, really?” Tom thought to himself with disbelief giving the man thorough scan. Not tall, and not short, the stranger had no real remarkable traits aside from a watery mouth that drooped on both sides, giving the man the resemblance of a kind of fish, a flounder, perhaps.

“Well it wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that much. But when I took a bite of that key lime cheesecake my aunt Doris brought home two weeks ago, I knew I had to find the man who made it,” the fish-man said with no sign of the enthusiasm his declaration might warrant.

“Somehow I knew it would come to this, key lime you say?” Tom said thoughtfully. “Hmmm, thought it might be the blood orange or black forest that would eventually do me in,” he said with a bit of humor in his voice.

“Do you in? I’m not sure I understand,” fish-mouth replied scratching his head as if to better illustrate his bafflement.

It wasn’t like them to play coy, either this guy is new or twisted or… “What exactly do you want from me, Mister…?”

“Oh! How rude of me! I’m Jonas Fingerling, master chef at Le Pantalons Fantaisie in New York City, NY and I’ve been searching my whole career for you! You are to be my pastry chef; I won’t hear anything but a ‘yes’. I will pay you anything you want, money is no option when you serve perfection!” the fishy chef declared with sudden flourish.

Seeing that the man was in fact telling the truth and he was not here to haul him away, Tom relaxed a little and formulated a reply.

“Ah! My dear aunt told me how shy you were, but please believe me you will not want to pass this opportunity by,” the chef interjected, seeing Tom was seconds from refusing.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fingerling but I-“ Tom began to reply before the chef held up his hand to silence him. Taking a few steps towards Tom, the man leaned closer as if he wanted to whisper something.

“Do not refuse me so quickly, Mr. Levingstein. I would hate for them to somehow find you and take you from me and your destiny to be a premier pastry chef. It would be nothing short of a tragedy, I’m quite sure of it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye giving him an even fishier demeanor somehow.

Tom rolled this new information around on his tongue like a tapioca pearl.

“When do I start?”

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Yay! I finally found some time to make a cheesecake! I used to whip up this delights on an almost monthly basis until another hobby of mine interfered (ahem… blog). So this evening I slaved over the mixer and oven to create a lovely-looking key lime cheesecake. It’s still cooling and won’t be ready for tasting until tomorrow, but it was lovely just throwing one together after almost a year of not making any.

TWO:    Ever since moving into my house, going on three years ago, I have received what I assume was the previous owner’s mail. After numerous ‘return to sender’ and notes to the mailman I’ve given up and usually just set the man’s mail back in the ‘pick up’ slot beneath my mail box. Who was this man? Where did he go? Is he on the run? Why didn’t he leave any forwarding address? Why does he still get all the good coupons?!?

Love & Squirrels.

 

Day #245: Cookie Capers

The Story:

Things were not going as planned. Renee had been planning for this day her entire life and now- it was ruined. She looked at her teammates in frustration, her mom, Ruth, had ‘thrown in the towel’ and was munching on a sugar cookie with her feet propped up in a chair and her 20-year-old daughter, Rosalee, was talking to herself and sneaking raw cookie dough into her mouth. “What a disaster,” she said looking at the stations around her, each team working busily on their cookie creations.

When she had received the phone call informing her that she had been selected to bring her cookie-baking talents to L.A. to be a competitor on the hit show “Totally Baked” she couldn’t believe it. Renee knew her cookies were well-loved in her small town of Fredericksburg, TN but to be asked to share her cookies on live television, it was a like a dream come true. As she looked around her untidy station, she felt as if she were living in a nightmare, there was nothing dreamlike about it.

Things had started on the wrong foot almost immediately, and, well quite literally. Upon arriving at the studio to begin the show, Renee had everything planned out and she and her mom and daughter were pumped to get started. But then, Ruth had tripped going up onto the stage to their station and broke her toe, basically rendering her immobile for the competition. With Ruth out of the game, it would be up to Renee and Rosalee to pick up the slack, which they could have done with ease… had the fridge in their station not gone on the frizt the night before. Renee’s cookie dough for her super-secret “Renee’s Rustic Sugar Biscuits” had been hardening in the fridge and now, it was a gloppy mess.  Practically unworkable, the dough which needed to stay refrigerated while portions of it were handled, rolled out and cut with Renee’s handmade cookie cutters was in danger of being completely ruined.

She had tried to make the best of it, enlisting Rosalee to help her roll the dough into balls which were then rolled in sugar and placed on a cookie sheet to be pressed, Renee hoped to retain a least a shred of her dignity. What they had ended up with were uneven round globs that looked more like uncooked ravioli than the picturesque cookies Renee usually whipped up. Trying to gussy them up in an attempt to cheer up her mom, Rosalee had taken several small cookie cutters and pressed them gently into the center of each uncooked cookie, leaving the outlines of gingerbread men, Christmas trees and angels on the cookies before they were placed in the oven. Now all they could do is wait. Finishing well ahead of schedule thanks to the mishaps of the day, Renee and her team sat back and watched as plate after plate of confectionary dreams were produced by the other teams. Renee’s Rustic Sugar Biscuits looked as if they had been made by a class of second graders by comparison.

What they SHOULD have looked like...

“Don’t worry mom, it was fun and who cares if they didn’t come out perfect. I kind of like that they are a little messed up, I think it makes them even better,” Rosalee hugged her mom and handed her one of their ‘messed up’ cookies.

“I’ll take another one!” Ruth yelled from her chair across the room.

“Really?” Renee asked as she handed a cookie to her mom. “That’s like your tenth cookie, mom. You’re gonna make yourself sick,” she said, only half meaning it.

“Nah, I could never get sick off cookies!” Ruth retorted stoutly before taking a giant bite out of the sugar cookie.

“Um, ladies? The judges are ready, all the teams are to assemble on the main stage for the award ceremony,” a gangly P.A. almost whispered before disappearing again into the darkness behind the stage.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Renee sighed and the three made their way, slowly on account of Ruth’s broken toe, to the main stage to meet their fate. Several minutes later, they stood immobilized by anticipation as the host ran through the obligatory build up,

“…and now, what you all have been waiting for, the judges have made their decision for the top award- BEST BAKED 2011. While the panel of judges found all of the entries exemplary examples of what can be done with the ‘ordinary’ cookie, this year’s winner stood out from the pack. Sticking to basic, quality ingredients they decided to forgo glitzing up their cookie and kept the presentation simple, rustic and it allowed the flavor to really stand on its own. The unfinished look reminded all of us of the times we spent in our mother’s kitchen as children, rolling out dough and sneaking a finger-full of dough when no one was looking. This year’s’ Best Baked 2011 award goes to… Renee’s Rustic Sugar Biscuits!”

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Tonight was an adventure in baking with my mom and Mamaw. Sticking three generations of stubborn, opinionated women with perfectionist tendencies in one small kitchen is never a good idea, but somehow we managed to make it through the night, and gosh dern it, we had a great time… at least I did. Between Mamaw’s fridge going on last night, the dough softening too quickly and sticking to everything, we somehow were able to produce a good number of edible cookies.

TWO:    So the goal was to make my mom’s infamous sugar cookies. We succeeded, kinda… since the dough couldn’t be refrigerated while we worked with small portions of it, rolling it out to use our cute cookie cutters wasn’t really going to be an option. So, we decided to roll them into balls, dust them in sugar and then stamp them flat. Problem was, they were so soft and sticky by the time we flattened them the stuck to everything we tried to use to flatten them with, including forks, spatulas, our hands and finally a water glass. The first few looked pretty pathetic (like ravioli), but I thought that made them even more fun… mom didn’t seem to agree.

About where I'm at right now... Ate. Too. Many. Cookies. Arggghhhhagghrrr....

Love & Squirrels.

Day #215: Pinning Problem

The Story:

Ava scampered across the room, hurdling laundry baskets and her curious beagle, George and dashed into the kitchen where the timer was beeping angrily. Grabbing a dish towel (hunting down a pot holder would waste precious seconds her lemon squares did not have) Ava flung open the oven door and yanked her confection unceremoniously out. “Thank goodness,” she breathed in relief, pleased her lemon squares were not burnt to a crisp and actually looked quite edible. “I’ve really got to kick this Pinterest habit or I’m liable to burn down the house,” she thought to herself knowing full-well she had no intention of quitting her newest web-based addiction. Placing the baking dish on the countertop, Ava went to her pantry in search of powdered sugar to garnish her lemon squares. Not wishing to trouble herself with a sifter, Ava tilted the bag over the lemon bars and shook it gingerly.

Annoyed at the walnut-sized ball of powdered sugar that landed smack dab in the middle of the dish, Ava leaned over and blew- instantly causing a cloud of sugar to engulf her entire face and the surrounding countertop. Laughing at herself, Ava drew lines in the sugar covering the countertop with her finger before she returned to her laptop- for a few more minutes of ‘pinning’ on Pinterest.

Four hours later, Ava was startled by her doorbell ringing. Checking her watch in confusion, “who on earth would be calling on her at this time in the morning?” she thought before the reality of the time of day hit her. It was 1:00pm! Ava had been ‘pinning’ all morning, not even stopping to shower or change out of her tattered t-shirt and uber-baggy sweatpants. And now, her mother was at her door, ready for their annual Christmas shopping excursion. Opening the door to her always-immaculately dressed mother, Ava immediately felt a little embarrassed about her own appearance and the disheveled state of her apartment. Once her mom was inside, Ava quickly ran to her bedroom to throw on some clothes, shouting an apology from the hall before her mother could say a word.

Reappearing some five minutes later, Ava called to her mom, “Ok mom, sorry about that. I’ve got this new addiction, you see, and I haven’t been able to get anything done since I’ve been on it. So, you ready to-“ the look of obvious concern on her mother’s face stopped Ava in her tracks. “What?” she asked as she came to stand across from her mom.

Looking around, as if hoping for someone to step from the shadows so she wouldn’t be required to do the heavy lifting for what she was about to say, Ava’s mother finally locked eyes with her youngest child and said, “Honey, we can get you help. Just, pack a bag and I can find you a place that can help you recover. You know I only want the best for you, I love you”.

Completely taken aback by her mother’s very serious statement, Ava cocked a brow and trying to remain calm asked what on earth she was talking about.

“Oh sweetie. You’re in deeper than I thought,” her mother almost wept.

“Mom. In simple words, please tell me what the hell you are talking about,” Ava was beginning to panic, what if her mother was experiencing a stroke or something?

“Ava, you have a cocaine problem, no, don’t try and deny it. You said it yourself as you were cleaning up- although you missed that bit under your nose. And then, to see it all over your countertop! I can’t imagine where you got it, but that’s not important. What’s important is that we get you the help you need,” her mother replied as stoutly as she could.

Rushing to the hallway mirror, Ava leaned in and sure enough, a smudge of white powder was quite obviously smeared under her nose. Letting out a yelp of laughter, Ava walked back to her mother and gave her a reassuring hug. Then without a word, walked to the fridge and producing her lemon squares held them up for her mother’s inspection before blowing some of the powdered sugar off the top. “Mom, I don’t have a drug problem. I was baking this morning and some of the sugar must have gotten on my face. And the addition I was referring to was a website, called Pinterest, not cocaine!”

The good ol days...

“Oh, thank my stars!” her mother burst out in a rush of relief, “after that one instance with your father and those Mexican gentlemen in the 70’s I don’t think I could have taken another drug-related episode!”

Ava was doubled over laughing at the idea that her mother thought she was a cokehead before the last statement struck her, “Wait… what?”

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Like I need one more distraction- I have found and fallen in love with Pinterest a site where you can bookmark just about anything you happen to like on the vast interwebs- mostly for crafting and cooking though. I signed up a few months ago, but never really got into it (admittedly, because I didn’t really understand what it was). Today I decided to give it another go, and after getting the gist (amazing where a little reading will get ya!) I am officially hooked. Let’s just say I actively pinned about six times, just in the hour it took me to write this story. I have a problem.

TWO:     I made ooey gooey lemon squares today. And in the words of the Publix bagger who helped me to my car the other day, “Isn’t lemon just the best?”. Yes, Publix bagger, yes it is. After pulling this pan of yellowy goodness out of the oven and letting them cool a bit, I thought I’d make them super fancy and sprinkle some powdered sugar on top. Grabbing the bag, I thought about finding my sifter and then abandonded the idea, chalking it up to being too labor intensive (yes, I am that lazy). So, instead I just up-ended the bag and prayed for perfection…. Haha. What I got, is what you would expect- a bunch of clumps of superfine sugar sporadically plopped all over the thing. Easy fix, I thought leaning over to give the stuff a healthy blow to spread it out a bit. Note to self- no baking before 11am. It’s just safer that way.

Why yes... mine look JUST LIKE THESE

Love & Squirrels.

 

Day #178: Sweet Introductions

The Story:

There once was a land on the edge of a dying moon, I’d tell you its name but they never got around to naming the awful place. What kind of place doesn’t have a name, you may ask? This one, I would answer. Should you ever have the displeasure of meeting its inhabitants, I have a strong inclination to believe you would no longer be confused by its namelessness. Having only the hardest bedrock for pillows and moon grit for toothpaste, the people of this no-name land were a gray and miserable lot. Lumbering through their monotonous lives, most residents wished only to be left alone and strictly adhered to the founding pillars of their community-less community-  mind your own business.

The only way I could like you less is if I were to meet you...

Conducting their business, attending to their own selfish needs, the people of this happily miserable land knew no greater pride than to boast, if only to themselves, of how few friends they could claim. Things were downright awful, just the way they liked it. And then, as if from another world, a pastry shop popped up, seemingly overnight, in the most dignifiedly drab part of town. Tainting the once distinguished district with reflections of its audacious color scheme (royal blue and sunny yellow, can you even imagine a structure being lowered to such ridiculousness!) and its name, The Perfect Little Pastry Shoppe, ugh! -the citizens agreed- the eyesore of a shop had to go.

Despite their inclination to rid their land of such frivolousness as ‘pastries’ and color schemes beyond the acceptable grey, slate or black, the perky shop somehow remained in operation. Not only that- it was successful. How else could you explain the addition of shutters to the windows or the horrific potted flowers placed out front? Something had to be done. Each citizen felt it as surely as they felt the stiff wind on their face, but in keeping with tradition, not a soul was willing to collaborate, lest they inadvertently establish a friendship in the process.

So the smugly cheerful shop chugged away, contentedly producing its absurd pastries and plaguing the landscape with its refusal to stop existing. Unable to sit idly by, one by one the curmudgeoned folk of that despicable land marched down to The Perfect Little Pastry Shoppe doors, itching to tell whoever was responsible for the place to kindly sod off.

“Good Morning!” a melodious voice rings out from behind the sparkling glass magnifying confections of every shape and size as you step through the royal blue door. An aroma of sugary vanilla and marzipan fills the nostrils as the eyes adjust to the warmly lit shop wallpapered with delicate yellow flowers and green piping. “Welcome to The Perfect Little Pastry Shoppe, I’m so pleased to meet you! My name is Rosalie, could I offer you a sample of our pumpkin bread? It’s just out of the oven and I can tell you are a pumpkin enthusiast, I’d love your opinion of it Mister…,” the shop owner continues in her delicate intonations. Unable to refuse her sweetness you awkwardly give you name and take the proffered slice of warm pumpkin bread, the purpose of your visit a distant memory. As you bite into the moist and fragrant pastry, Rosalie smiles and waves to some of the others in the shop, that to this moment you failed to notice, and begins to make introductions, “That is Bobette over in the corner nibbling on the orange and cranberry scone. Oh, and this is Paul, he’s enjoying our specially made fruit tart with organic moonberrys. And last but certainly not least, that is Dr. Drummer finishing off one of our chocolate lavender éclairs”. Everyone gives a rusty smile, an expression they are just now relearning.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Sometimes I hate how jaded I seem to be getting. I know it’s happening, I feel it slinking around beneath my skin from the time I get up in the morning to the moment my brain allows sleep to come. I blame myself, after all, I am the one who keeps getting older (I never had this problem when I was an 8-year-old). Despite my best attempts to see the good in things (and harder, in people) and to maintain a sunny disposition, sometimes there are days where I allow all the bleh of the world to weigh me down. Thankfully, there are days like today, that produce moments that remind me, things aren’t all that bad. The moment in reference happened in a mechanics’ shop, of all places. For years my family has been patronizing the same mechanic and today Andy was brought into the fold. Upon entering the office of the little shop, Guy, the owner/manager is hopping around, busy as usual but immediately stops to greet us. Remembering us by name, he gives us a giant smile and then- he introduces us to the other two customers waiting in the lounge. The oddity of being introduced to strangers who were just waiting for their cars to be serviced struck me immediately. I could see I wasn’t the only one that found the incident a bit bizarre. As customers came and went, Guy continued to make introductions, sharing stories from his day and all around treating all of us like we were one big family gathered in a living room after supper instead of a mechanics waiting room. And then I started to think about why I found these introductions so noticeably odd and was immediately saddened. Have we reached a time in our ‘civilization’ where the simple introduction or even acknowledgement of another human being, albeit a stranger, sharing the same room was a social anomaly? I hope not. So thank you Guy, thank you for still treating each person who walks through your door as a human being. And thank you for reminding us that we should do the same.

SwedeCentral in Winter Park, FL

Love & Squirrels.

Day #158: Pin Up List

The Story:

A wash full of intimates

A pedicure long overdue

A cheesecake unbaked

And a much needed phone call or two

*

A pile of mending that must be sorted through

A bathroom in desperate need of scrubbing

A growing stack of “need-to-read”

And a desktop ready for reorganizing

*

A room full of half-finished projects

A guest room with nothing but bare walls

A fresh batch of brewed ice tea- not yet made

And a puppy who needs a good washing down to his paws

*

A day with no obligations- perfect for chores

A list of things I had every intention of doing

A surprise attack from a nap unexpected

And another day gone leaving my tasks still accruing.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      What is that phrase, The path to hell is paved with good intentions? Well, my path would also be strewn with half-painted canvases and bookshelves, secondhand furniture in need of refurbishing, blank walls, piles of laundry, never-opened books, stacks of never-tried recipes and lots and lots of housework. Every weekend I promise myself I will spend at least one day catching up on some of the things I’ve been meaning to do but am too exhausted to see to during the work week. I even have a chalkboard in my living room that I catalog some of the ‘bigger’ items in an effort to get my butt moving on them… it has had mixed results. So here it is, Saturday. A day with a million possibilities, a day that can be molded into anything I want it to be, a day that is open and ready to be put to work. So what do I do? Well, after a morning/afternoon of running around with Andy, I can home and almost immediately- fall asleep. Sigh… oh well. I’ll try not to be too tough on myself, after all I did accomplish a few things, I was introduced to a new favorite used bookstore (and they were introduced to my Visa card), I finished spray-painting a little stool for the kitchen, I did a load of laundry, played a few rounds of Dr. Mario (naturally), I cooked a scrumptious dinner… I, ah…hmm… what else did I do today? Well, as they say, tomorrow’s another day! See you then, Sunday!

THE To-Do List... that never gets done

Love & Squirrels.