By this time next week, my husband Kim Jong-Illmatic and I will be in upstate New York, enjoying the long Labor Day weekend in a rented luxury stone house along with six friends and their 3½ children (one adorably smiley toddler, one blue-eyed wonder of an infant, one gorgeous bruiser of newborn and a baby girl still resting in her mama’s belly). We’re looking forward to long dinners and full wine glasses,* dips in the in-ground pool, treks to local farmers’ markets, visits to local art studios, and other grown-up things – things that perhaps signal that the days of staying out drinking all night until it was time to go hunt for a 24-hour diner that served meatloaf are a thing of the past, things that lead to a big, brightly-lit sign repeatedly pulsating “ADULTHOOD: YOU’VE ARRIVED.”
While I am of course looking forward to all of this (aging-related ansias asisde), what I’m most anticipating is all the BAKING I’m set to be doing next weekend.
Ooooohhh.
Like Jennifer Love Hewitt back when she was the hotness, I can’t hardly wait. For the past few weeks, I’ve had nothing but visions of all-purpose and pastry flours, creamed sugars and butters, peaked egg whites, melting bittersweet chocolate, toasty nuts,** cream cheese frosting, and concoctions full sweet, sweet love.
When I’m baking – hand mixer in one hand, rubber spatula in the other, looking down at my inevitably butter-stained recipe page – I’m in my happy place. It’s calming – the concentration needed to make sure I have all the right ingredients, the precision necessary to measure them out and combine them as required, the calibration of temperatures to make sure my sometimes-bitch of an oven doesn’t ruin all my efforts. The process of baking diverts the attention of the dozens of monkeys running around in my head, shuts them up for a while so I can stop the whirlywind that is usually my internal monologue.
And – I’m not gonna lie to you – I’m good.
Learning to bake from scratch was a revelation to me. I grew up in a Dunkin Heinz/Betty Crocker cake mix and pre-made frosting kind of house; the only things my mom baked had sweet plantain or potato crusts and were stuffed with ground beef. Now I am confident that I can bake anything from scratch – anything that doesn’t involve yeast, that is. It the one beast I’ve yet to tame. I don’t know what I did – said something bad about its momma, maybe, or questioned its sartorial choices – but yeast does not like me. At all.
The funny thing about my baking habit, however, is that there is rarely occasion for me to exercise it. I’m always the first to offer to bring dessert to a dinner party or to make a cake for a special occasion (birthday, Mother’s Day, July 4th, Arbor Day– you name it). A few weeks ago I practically begged to make 75 of these cupcakes for my goddaughter’s first birthday, because otherwise there’s usually just Kim Jong-Illmatic and I to enjoy the fruits of my labor.
Two things: 1. my husband is generally only interested in things containing white chocolate and/or pecans; 2. I can’t possibly be expected to eat everything myself. I once polished off the majority of a clafoutis, to dire consequences. Sure, I could take the fruits of my labor to my government job - but haven’t you all been reading about how lazy I am?
So I am, indeed, looking forward to a captive audience of 9½ people on which to foist my baked goodies. On this hurricainy, rainy Saturday afternoon, I’ve been on the surfing the internet and ruffling through my assorted cookbooks, making lists and notations and post-it marks on treats I want to bake next week. Currently up for consideration?
- Tried and true for excellency crisp salted white chocolate oatmeal cookies
- Believe-the-hype best New York Times decadent brownies
- The Barefoot Contessa's croissant bread pudding
- Honey caramel peach pie, featured in the July 2009 issue of Gourmet
- Better-than-you'll-ever-believe homemade Oreos
- Straight from Peru dulce de leche torte
- Light and delicious mixed berry pavlova
- Not-technically-baked-but-never-you-mind scarlet poached pears
- Cute-as-a-button espresso-blackberry macarons
- Martha Stewart-approved tiramisu ice cream cake
- Sweetly, simply delicious chocolate mousse
I wonder how many of these I can fit into the 3 ½ days we’ll be upstate?
Don’t underestimate me, housemates. Bring your sweet teeth. And your toothbrushes.
And your fat pants. Don’t forget your fat pants.
*Nothing but Shirley Temples and seltzer spritzers for the mama-to-be, of course.
** Heh heh, I said “toasty nuts.”
© Chommo, 2009
