Summer-style Five by Five

1) For my friend’s bachelorette party, we went to the beach and filmed a Spice Girls music video. There was much attitude, leopard print, and semi-inappropriate dancing in front of strangers and their families.

2) I broke into my own house last week. Least graceful thing I’ve ever done in a skirt.

3) At my friend’s wedding, I caught a third of the bouquet and then dropped that shit because I have no immediate plans for marriage and the other two girls looked like they might eat me.

4) I got sick the day before our biggest summer festival that I co-organize at work. We did an hourly raffle all day, both days, during which I handed out germs and misery in the form of raffle tickets, and ate too many granola bars because they were there and you can’t sneeze if you’re chewing.

By the end of the weekend, I was so out of it that I had to take the entire rest of the week off work to recuperate. I watched two seasons of The Good Wife, painted my nails repeatedly because I could not smell the fumes whatsoever and discovered that the ringing in my ears got worse when I tilted my head to the left.

5) My sister asked me to make a blue, heart-shaped cake for her friend’s birthday, which sounds great, if a little odd, until you see the final product:

Top: Original on Internet; Bottom: Our version - happy birthday!

We’re a classy household over here.

Happy 27th

I asked my brother what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he sent me this:

(source)

I said um, no. Acceptable answers would have included "chocolate," "vanilla," and "Dairy Queen."

Eventually I got my act together and spent several hours googling peanut butter. Did you know if you use natural peanut butter in baking, it'll separate and be yucky? So you can't even pretend it's healthy.

I made two cakes, two frostings, and one fitness bootcamp. That's balance, right?

rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb

I made Strawberry Rhubarb pie today because I was woozy on blood loss and it seemed like the right thing to do.

We have two patches of rhubarb in our garden, one of which is around the side of the house. Right in the centre was an extra long red stalk jutting out just above the rest, with a huge leaf the size of a pizza hanging off it. I grasped the stalk and pulled.

Nothing. I glanced around to make sure no one could see me and yanked as hard as I could.

Nothing. It felt like I was pulling on Excalibur.

I planted my feet firmly on the cement sidewalk, gripped both hands around the stalk, threw all my weight behind it and--

Fell. On my ass. Without the stalk.

I scrambled up, brushed off the dirt, and glared at the stupid red vegetable. Fruit. Fuck.

And that's how I got beaten up by rhubarb.

I win because I cut it.

 

fourteen layers later

For my momma's birthday, I made a cake. It looked like this:

And then it looked like this:

And then like this:

The end.

This post is neither witty nor whimsical nor gramatically correct.

This post is rhubarb. Specifically Strawberry Rhubarb Pie.

 Like this. Does rhubarb have a peel like oranges or skin like carrots?

 Okay, I lied. There's also strawberries.

I have several hundred versions of this shot. I love the colours! Also, I was listening to Shrek: The Musical soundtrack at the time and it totally distracted me from moving on.

I didn't take any pictures after my the pie was baked though because I was too busy stuffing my face--I mean, um, because the lighting was bad. Yeah.

If I had to live with only one maybe-fruit-maybe-vegetable, I would choose rhubarb. No contest.

Because I'm self-sacrificing like that.

I decided to make cookies to take to my guaranteed-stressful meeting tomorrow so it would be guaranteed-stressful with snacks.

My Lemon Thumbprints turned into Burnt Shortbread though. That's why I ate five of them. To be sure they weren't salvageable. Yeah.

Darling

I woke up this morning with a focus: make Lemon Tartlets. Make them really cute and make lots of them. So I swirled my hair up in a bun, staggered downstairs in my pjs, and promptly lost all sight of my goal because according to the paper, Justin Bieber's in a movie. He's sixteen. And his hair is lame. I must go see this movie and mock him relentlessly.

When I remembered that I had a purpose in waking up an hour late early, I blared Legally Blonde: The Musical songs on my iPod and began baking. I love lemon tartlets because you make the shells yourself and they're tiny and miniature and anything tiny and miniature is darling. Just look at babies. All they do is cry and sleep and poop and eat, but they're darling because they only come in size XXS.



They (the tarts not the babies) came out lovely.

 



You know what? They tasted yummy. And you know what else? I made them entirely without incident!

Except for the fire.

But it was a very tiny fire. Some might even call it darling.

on my FIRST try!

I poached an egg for the first time this morning, all by myself.

I think that means I'm growing as a person.

Christmas 2010

How come the italian bulldozers on Cake Boss can create beautiful cakes and I can't decently decorate a sugar cookie?

Exhibit A:


Gingers need representation too.
S'all about equality.

I tried to just use dots because even I have to be able to do that, and they looked okay on the trees and stars. Not so much on the snowmen. How come all my cookies look ill?

Well, at least these ones look happy. 



Naked, but happy.

But you know what kids craft I didn't fail at? Reese's Pieces. Booyah.

I guess there were other things going on other than my chocolate awesomeness. For example, decorations:

But then there's my decoration:

Feathers in my hair.
Waaay cooler than a Dancing Santa.

The rest of Christmas looked like this:

 

This guy sits in the kitchen and stares at me with his black eyes and scared felt skin.  Think Frosty meets Hannibal Lector. He's also at butt-level, which makes him even creepier.

 You see it too, right?

yumyumyumyumyum (with update!)

These are my apples.

This is my pie.

This is my mess.

This is the yay (in a non-pictured way):

I totally wrapped my dough around the rolling pin and laid it out in the pie plate without it tearing/sticking/screaming. Both times!

This is the nay:

As pretty as it looked (and it did look pretty), it was just okay. Like it was trying too hard. Like the caster sugar and the brown sugar had broken up but were trying to be friends for the sake of the pie while all the other ingredients took sides. Lines were drawn. Things got ugly.

Ooh-I-totally-get-that now:

So apparently, to 'core' an apple, you don't need a fancy shmancy machine. Or even a buy-one-get-one-free machine from the dollar store. And you don't have to stab the apple multiple times with apple blood squirting everywhere like a bad impression of Psycho. You just cut it into quarters and then remove the core pieces.

Whoops.

Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb.

Do you know what's fantastic? Cornstarch.

Seriously. It is the secret hero behind every pie. All the goodness of your favourite fruit is just bleh without the gooeyness and that's thanks to cornstarch.

I don't know how it does it. Or what it's made of. I'm assuming corn. Iunno. But still: fantastic.

Last week I made this peach pie.

I'm not a huge fan of peaches unless they're baked. I feel fuzziness and I think mold.

After I turned the oven on, I floured up the counter and started rolling out the dough. My Glee soundtrack was playing on my iPod. I'd turned way up to counter the irritating grating of my sister's voice. Suddenly, I thought I smelled burning so I pulled out my earphones to check.

Let's review that sentence.

I thought I smelled burning, so I pulled out my earphones so I could smell better.

Yeah. Yeah, I don't get it either, but it's a good thing I did because I opened up the oven door and blegh, billowing smoke.

Apparently, the last time I made a pie, it had dripped over the edge and hadn't been cleaned, so now it was buuuuuuurning up.

Yeah, yum.

We pretty much just let it burn itself up (there wasn't much) and by the time the pie was ready to go in, the kitchen was a smoke-free area.

It turned out really well. Lots of yummy.

The next day--since we had a big box of peaches--I made Peach Crumb Bars, which were doughy and plain and not particularly peachy. I'm not sure how come they weren't all that peachy since there were more peaches in it than there were in the pie. But, hey, the ice cream was good.

Today, I decided to make Strawberry Rhubarb pie again. I really like picking my own rhubarb (not all from the same spot, thereby not leaving a big gap in the garden this time). Makes me feel all outdoorsy. Like I don't shriek at creepy crawlers and madly run/hop away when I see a spider.

Also, I really love rhubarb.

Isn't it pretty?

And the stalks make great swords. I mean, if I had to choose a vegetable for a sword fight, I would totally choose rhubarb. Cucumber wouldn't stand a chance.

And see? Even the thrown away bits are pretty! Carrot thrown away bits totally get pwned.

And you know what makes a fantastic salad? Rhubarb leaves. Especially if someone you hate is coming for dinner.

By the way, if the pictures look a little faded, it's not them. It's you. Actually it's your computer screen doing what I asked it to do when I designed this blog. Whatever. Just click and you'll see them in their full colour glory.

Oh! Oh! 'Nother cool thing about rhubarb: tricking people into eating it raw. Heh.

 

I'm done praising rhubarb now.

  

Oh! And on stage, when you see people in the background talking, they're not, they're saying 'Rhubarb, rhubarb rhubarb. Rhubarb? Rhuuuubarb!'

Okay, now I'm really done.

Imma go eat some pie.

 

Does that make it healthy?

Hey, did you know carrot cake has actual carrot in it?

Is a toadstool a mushroom?

Today I had two brilliant ideas.

1) Make a gooey, cinnamony sweet Strawberry Rhubarb Pie and

2) Cut my fingernails into upside down V's, making them super sharp and pointy and then walk around pretending to be Queen of the Damned.

(Apparently Anne Rice ditched the whole Born-Again-Christian thing and is now a Born-Again-Fantasy-Writer. I look forward to more metrosexual creepiness in books to come.) 
To be honest, the pie wasn't so much an idea as an opportunity 'cause we had strawberries that would go moldy if not used soon. I picked the rhubarb from the garden myself and felt very Anne of Green Gables.

Sidenote: if I were miniature and seeking shelter in a garden, I would hide under the rhubarb leaves. Mushrooms smell funny. Plus they can make you sick. Plus they look funny. Rhubarb is way cooler, plus you can eat as much of it as you like and not get ill (although in either scenario you're still two inches tall and eating the left overs of aphids, ants and slugs). I originally had this thought on April 20th, and was going to post it then, but reconsidered when I realized how high it would make me sound. And it was 4/20. No one would believe I actually think these things.

So the pie was Brilliant Idea Numero Uno.

The pointy fingernails were really cool at first. I felt very femme fatale. Then, I washed my hands, held my eyelid in place and attempted to take out my contacts.

The glint of my own speared nails made me freeze.

So Brilliant Idea Numero Dos didn't pan out. I did manage to take my contacts out but it felt more Corner Gas than James Bond.

On the plus, I now have a three day weekend to come up with more brilliant ideas. I should keep a tally of how many actually end up brilliant and how many end up with me lying to a stone-faced triage nurse about how "it was an accident!"

like a serial killer with blood trickling down my wrist

"Is it supposed to be lumpy?"

My friend made cookies for the first time when he was seventeen. The recipe called for salt, and he thought salt and pepper always go together. He was wrong. He also placed the dough really close together so in the oven, it merged into one giant peppery cookie.

I made cherry tarte today.

My little cousin was very adamant this morning that she does not like pie. Any pie. Pie bad.

I was tempted to say, "Well you've never tasted my cherry pie!" but to be truthful, neither had I.

So I made this Cherry Pie but have renamed it Cherry Tarte because she won't start French classes until Grade Five. 

I used this dough recipe because I've made it before and it worked out well then. I really hate cleaning the mixer though. Like fiery passion against cleaning this mixer. It's an evil, albeit fully functional, little mixer.

Pitting the cherries was waaaay easier than everybody made it out to be. Yes, it took time. Yes, my fingernails are stained. Yes, holding the knife I looked like a serial killer with blood trickling down my wrist. But c'mon.

Once the cherries were done, it came together really easily. I would have taken pictures but my camera has run away with the Scarf of Sexual Preference. You'll just have to take my word that it looked pretty, smelled pretty, and tasted like it was actually cherry pie.

I'm always afraid I'm gonna make something new like pavlova and instead of tasting like pavlova, it tastes like chicken. Or cat food. Or nail polish remover.

My little cousin also got over her aversion to all things pie and declared it edible. Cool.

I also pitted more cherries and used our new blender for the first time. It worked okay but I remain less than impressed. Although it is rather shiny. I was making cherry yogurt popsicles and when I poured in some sugar, a lot more than I'd anticipated poured out. I thought the jar was almost empty. I was wrong. On the plus side, those popsicles are gonna taste great!

Excuse me as I go paint my nails. Gotta cover up the cherry gore stains before I scare small children on transit.

Sugared Rain

Having no stage time equals lots of baking. It's a compensation thing. And a displacing addiction thing.

I made these Apple Slice Bars and they were really good.

Then I made orange yogurt popsicles out of--shocker--orange, yogurt and sugar and they were a huge hit. We ate eleven in a day. Whoops.

I also don't like nutmeg. I discovered this tonight after making Snickerdoodle Muffins, which were good but no where near as spectacular as these Cinnamon Sugar Snickerdoodles Cookies.

 You know what's really cool though? This!

People who smile real big

1) Tonight was our very last rehearsal of HMS Pinafore. That's it, no more. Just tech and dress in the theatre, and then we have a hundred people watching us prace around in heavy skirts and hairspray and foundation half an inch thick.

2) I made the lime cookies today. They were essentially limey shortbread, but dipped in icing sugar, and nothing dipped in icing sugar can be less than delicious.

3) Every time I get a text message, the speakers of my computer squeak. Hehe.

Dead, dead, dead.

What I knew about limes:

- they're green lemons.

- they go great with tequila.

What I now know about limes:

- they're rotten lemons.

- fuck 'em.

This evening I made Lime Meltaways.

When I first started zesting the limes, I smelled mint. I do not understand this.

Also, limes suck. Mine must have been old or gimped or something 'cause they had no juice. There was absolutely no juice in either of them, none (except for a half a tablespoon).

Bad limes. Evil limes. Dead limes.

Do you know what a dead lime looks like? I never actually cared but surprisingly, they're kinda pretty.

 In a dead and rotten way.

Pretty Pinwheel: With UPDATE!

It's important to laugh at yourself.

To see the humour, to appreciate your own faults as well as hate them, right?

I really hope so 'cause boy was I laughing tonight!

This evening ('round 11pm 'cause hey, school's out for the summer and I'm still unemployed), I attempted to make these Pinwheel Cookies. They look so pretty! So circular! So yummy!

Making the dough wasn't hard. I've melted chocolate using a double boiler enough times that I didn't make any silly mistakes (for example: cranking up the heat but forgetting to put in water thereby burning the bottom of the pot; not chopping up the chocolate first so that it takes forever, and then having the water boil and adding more cold water and then having that water boil and then thinking 'whatever, I'll add more water in a minute' right before steam started shooting out of the sides, making the upper pot dance).

I left the dough in the fridge (well, freezer 'cause I'm impatient, first mistake!) like the recipe said and stalked on Facebook for a bit, imaging the beautiful cookies I would serve tomorrow. Cockiness: second mistake (although I kept it to myself).

Then came the fun part. The oh-my-god-how-have-I-survived-this-long-without-these-basic-skills part. The laughing part. Well, the laughable part.

The idea is you role out the white dough, then the chocolate dough, then flip one on top of the of the other, role them up and tadah! Beautiful pinwheel cookies!

The reality was sticky. I must have dusted on another cup of flour with every strip of dough to keep it from sticking to the wax paper but it just kept sticking! And then tearing! And then I was frantically trying to poke and pat it back together and getting cookie dough under my fingernails and dusting myself with flour as much as the dough. And then I'm rolling and patting and flipping and rolling some more and finally, finally I get my first log done!

And it's an inch thick.

Uhhhh, it's supposed to be two inches thick and not nearly as motley in colour.

I doubled up the next amount of dough, and 'dusted' the wax paper with flour until there was a nice thick layer coating the entire thing. Well, the entire thing, my dress, and the floor. Whoops.

Essentially, I took a pretty recipe and ruined it.

But I like to think of it this way: tonight, I proved that I'm a miracle child. 'Cause honestly, how many people could have survived this long without the ability to roll-flip-roll? Even with microwaves and mothers, that's still quite a feat. Miracle child, incapable troll of a miracle child!

You've got to laugh at the stupid stuff you do.

And I've got a feeling I'll be laughing for a loooong time.

Updated!! Look, look, they're pretty!

There's no point making yummy things if the icing sugar sprinkled on top is lumpy.

Lately, I've been baking.

Good stuff, lots of stuff, but I'm not usually a baker, in fact I'm not much a of a kitchen-oriented person at all. The microwave is my best friend.

But then I was introduced to this stupid site with stupid pictures and stupid recipes and they're so yummy to look at and so tempting to make that I make them and pass the blame. www.foodgawker.com

Click it. I dare you.

It's beautiful, overflowing with calories and seductive well-lit photographs (I miss my Nikon). I made Creamsicle Cookies (which were delicious) and Lemon Tartlets (which were also delicious, and made me feel very cool), and then yesterday, I made flour tortillas.

Why did I make tortillas? Better question, why did I make whole wheat tortillas?

'Cause the picture looked pretty. Never in my life have I wanted to make tortillas but looking at the pictures and the recipe and knowing that I had all the ingredients was too much and I acted on the urge to make them.

Not cool, pretty picture, not cool.

They turned out okay. Honestly though, I don't like whole wheat. And I have no idea if I cooked them right 'cause they didn't look like the ones in the picture 'cause those ones aren't whole wheat.

That's not the point.

The point is now it's two a.m. and instead of sleeping or Farmvilling (that's a verb now) or hanging out with friends, I am googling how to poach eggs and wondering if we have a jelly roll pan. Also, what the hell is a jelly roll pan?