Tuesday, December 04, 2012
I'm a really good cook. To be more exact, I am a really good baker. You know what that means, don't you? It means that there is always at least three pounds of butter in my freezer, that I currently have four different kinds of sugar in my pantry (not to mention the two colors of corn syrup and the molasses), and that when someone mentions that they will be dropping by in an hour, I meet them at the door with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of cookies or muffins. My favorite possession is my apple green Kitchen Aid mixer, and of the 20 cookbooks I brought overseas, 2/3 of them are dessert-centered.
I am the product of generations of chubby Midwestern women who were too repressed to show their love in any way but dough. If you've had a bad day, I'll make you cookies; If you've done something nice for me, a pie will appear in your life; If I am stressed, I'll stay up and bake brownies because it reminds me of being with my mom and grandmother and being a little girl again. I don't bake out of depression--well, sometimes, but not only. Sometimes I bake out of joy, or love, or EGO.
If there is an event at work that requires food--a potluck breakfast, or a meeting, you can bet that mine will be the dish that is finished first, and that if it is not, I will be frustrated and jealous of the person who made something better than me.
How messed up is that? We have a potluck breakfast in two days, and I am already fretting over what I can make that will top the raspberry crumb coffee cake I baked for the last one. One of my friends said that she was just going to boil a dozen eggs and call it a day, because it was the busy time of the year, and she didn't need to stress about anything else. What what what??? How can she bring boiled eggs? Doesn't she know that people will judge her???? (OK, maybe that's just me who will judge her..and if so, what kind of a person am I for judging someone over what she brings to a potluck?)
This weekend I baked a cake to take to a party. I think the baking soda had gone off, because the cake, one I've made numerous times before, did not rise. Instead of laughing it off and showing up with a bottle of wine, I skipped the party and wallowed in frustration because the cake did not do what it was supposed to.
Clearly this is not normal behavior.