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 #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.