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You know, turned on regularly, left alone to cool off when fuming, and cleaned of dirt and grime. You really should be expecting this kind of ridiculousness from me by now. This week was back to school week, so I was busy actually working (but still not being paid..ahh, such a noble profession) and did not have time to do any baking. I did, however, have time to clean out my absolutely filthy oven. Seriously, thing was dirtier than my language after a couple glasses of wine. The wine isn’t necessary for my colorful lingo, I just enjoy a good glad of Pinot Grigio. Anyway, with the amount of baking and regular cooking that goes on here, my oven builds up crust I somehow fail to notice until I turn on the broiler and the whole thing starts smoking. Apparently my OCD turns a blind eye to chores I know will suck and take up most of my day. So I tried an oven cleaning experiment my mother did a few weeks ago with massive success..I am happy to report this method not only worked for me, but also only took me about thirty minutes of overall scrubbing to complete. It went from nasty and gross, to so clean I’d eat off of it. Or cook off of it?

Light bulb still doesn’t work, but look how cleeeeeaannn!!

Now the only problem is I never want to use it. So pristine and new looking! But let me tell you how unbelievably easy this cleaning method is. You only need two glass baking dishes, a cup or two of boiling water, and a cup or two of ammonia. If you’re like me and have skin so sensitive that if someone even just looks at you the wrong way you break out in rash, hives, or acne, I recommend wearing gloves when handling the ammonia.

No, I’m not heating up lemon-lime Gatorade in my oven…But you can see how gross the racks and oven itself were.

While you’re waiting for your water to boil, preheat your oven to 170. Once your water boils, pour it in to one of the glass dishes, and pour the ammonia into the other. The moment your oven yells at you (yes I am still personifying my inanimate oven) after it is finished preheating, turn it off. Now, place the water on your lowest rack, and the ammonia on the middle rack, and close. Then walk away. Leave it alone. Don’t peek because the fumes may make you go blind, or  give you a killer headache that might make you question whether your skull is going to split open and another appendage is going to grow out of it as a result. Extreme case, I know, but you get the gist. Leave your oven alone overnight, and windows open until the end of time. Seriously, have you ever smelled ammonia at room temperature? Imagine what boiling water and a hot oven do to it…

While the smell may not be the greatest, if you don’t open the oven, only your kitchen will smell like you’re trying to clean up a toxic waste site. Also, if you have smelly good candles or a scent burner, this will help. I’d recommend a citrus-y scent to offset the bitter ammonia smell (with a nose this large, I’m like a scent sommelier, trust me). I bought a scent warmer just for this occasion from Wal-mart only to bring it home and the bulb inside the packaging was broken, so I was operating without a safety smell net. Neither the dog nor hedgehog appreciated this, as both huffed off in separate directions and retreated to the comfort of their beds. Well, P.B. hustled back into her castle to continue hating everything else about life PLUS the smelly kitchen, and Hank looked absolutely betrayed that the warm treat dispenser could ever smell so foul as he slunk back to the bedroom.

The next morning, open the oven door a bit to let the last of that lovely smell waft away, and then be pleased your kitchen doesn’t smell like robots peed everywhere anymore and remove the racks. All you need now is a small bucket or large bowl of soapy water and a sponge or steel wool. Soak your scrubber and then wash away the walls of your oven and the oven door. Here is where I got SUPER happy..

Before: Glass was caked with grease and specks of..stuff.

After: A few swipes of the sponge and grease be gone! Also, mystery specks are no more. Look at it, like a friggin’ mirror!

I then took my oven racks and scrubbed them off in the sink. I’m fairly certain there was twenty-year-old food particles caked on those things. Don’t ask me how that’s even possible considering this house is only ten years old.

Yes, that is a hedgehog potholder, thank you. But you can see how cruddy the racks were.

And now they’re mostly shiny and less crusty! Always nice when things you cook with aren’t crusty.

It is literally sparkling clean.

When all is said and done, I’ll take one night of a weirdly off-putting smell in my kitchen for an oven that practically cleaned itself. I now wonder what things I can use ammonia for other than oven cleaning and brain cell killing. I’m thinking this stuff could be a real game changer, and it has been a few days since the oven was cleaned, so I’m hoping I’m thinking this with fully-charged, non-ammonia riddled brain cells again. I really should’ve listened to my mom when she told me not to open the preheated oven after putting the ammonia into it, but I just had to make sure nothing was going to boil over, and without an oven light, I was left with Sophie’s no choice. I highly recommend having a working oven light when you use this method, and not letting curiosity kill your nostrils. But for how easy this was, I say go for it because you know its been years since you’ve cleaned your oven, and she really deserves a good bath like anyone else (of course ovens are female…they’re temperamental and hard working). Now that the dust has settled after week one of the semester, I will be baking this weekend. Yes, my oven will be losing its cleaning virginity. I promise I’ll stop personifying my oven now. ‘Til next time, my fellow eaters!

Food mash-ups seem to be a pretty popular thing recently…like fruit pizzas, ice cream sandwich churros, or my personal favorite- Trader Joe’s waffle butter cookies slathered in cookie butter. What’s that? I couldn’t hear you over the size of my waistline expanding. Anyway, I was truly surprised I hadn’t heard of this spectacularly awesome thing known as S’mores cupcakes until my mom blew my mind and decided she was going to bake some so I had treats on the road. You wish your mom was my mom, but I’m not sharing. I also didn’t share the cupcakes. Ate ’em before I even got to my sister’s house. Long car trips are extremely boring, and since I was the driver I couldn’t exactly take a nap to pass the time. Google, when you gonna make a car that drives itself? You spent years making those ridiculous Google Glasses that no one would ever be caught dead in instead of a self-driving car…really? Not a wonder my phone’s preferred search engine is Bing…

Not a self-driving car, but still pretty friggin’ spectacular.

My mom was in charge of the baking for this batch of cupcakes while I worked on the frosting. She questioned if I can’t, shouldn’t, or don’t blog about baked good that come out of the box, but I totally can, should, and do. Considering most of my cakes are simple box cakes with several alterations made to make it not taste like a box cake but a day’s worth of slaving in the kitchen, I find boxed cupcakes perfectly acceptable for human consumption (I save the fancy stuff for Hank and his pupcakes).

I mean, it says ‘premium’ right on the box…

So, we followed directions, but this recipe does take some careful paying attention to so that your layers turn out properly, and the box directions were kind of convoluted. I won’t bore you with the ingredients list because not only can you buy these at your grocery store, but also do you have any idea how hard it is for me to wittily write out an ingredients/measuring list? I give it my all every week, and since I’m dealing with Clovistan breathing issues again, I just don’t have it in me. I’m pretty sure the only thing in me right now is a gallon of snot and that Oreo I had a minute ago. I’m bad at snacking like an adult, don’t judge me.

Start with your graham cracker crust, which you have previously mixed after reading the directions because I honestly can’t do everything for you…who do you think you are? One of my students? Geesh. Anyway, these are made with a ton of love…which you all know really means “crapton of butter.”

Then pour a small bit of the chocolate cupcake mix on top of your crust. I know we’re not supposed to eat the batter, but c’mon, that looks so good. I’ve never died from eating batter or cookie dough with raw egg in it. So I say, go for it. But if I do somehow end up dying from eating raw batter, make sure to kinda brush that fact under the rug and say I went out in a blaze of glory trying out the self-driving car I made because Google can’t get their crap together.

On top of the chocolate batter, squeeze a little of the marshmallow mix into each cupcake. The packet does come with the mix, but if you really like your marshmallows, I suppose you could add in more marshmallow fluff or top the cupcakes with a marshmallow when there is a few minutes of baking time left. Have I mentioned I really like marshmallows? Even just spelling the word marshmallows makes me happy. Nonsensical and fun, thanks marshmallows. Can we check with Guinness World Records and see if this is paragraph uses the word marshmallows in it more than any other written form? Marshmallows, marshmallows, marshmallows.

Finally, top with the remaining chocolate batter. Do you see the deliciousness left in that bowl? That could have been my dinner!!  Then plop these bad boys into the oven at whatever the hell temperature the box says for however the hell long the box says. Stupid box, always demanding we follow its instructions.

End result! Of course, if a cupcake doesn’t have a frosted top, isn’t it just a muffin?

Naturally, I had to frost those tasty little morsels. Baking is fun, but decorating is my bread and butter. Or is it my piping bag and frosting? Whatever. I have done the 1M-tip rose at least a kajillion times, and though it is pretty, I always kept wondering how the hell people got such peaked roses out of them when mine were always kinda flat. Turns out, they didn’t. To get those beautiful peaked roses every stock photo uses, you need a completely different tip. Thanks for filling me in on that, internet. This is also somehow Google’s fault.

You need the 2D tip to make that shizz extra fancy schmancy.

So fit your bag with a 2D tip to become the winner you know you were born to be. That’s how I felt anyway, and I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same way when you try this because it is exhilarating. OCD makes for really interesting personality traits, apparently. You follow the same motions as when using that old mimic-y 1M tip and start by piping a bit of frosting on the inside and slowly wrapping your way around until you reach the edge of the cupcake.

While the chocolate frosting does make it a bit harder to see, these are clearly very intricate roses compared to those done with the 1M tip. Clearly also very tasty.

I mean, really. This was so perfect I almost didn’t want to eat it. Espresso brown roses should really be a thing. Not just the dead kind, but living ones.

But I totally did (as if you had your doubts). The frosting turned out awesome, but once unwrapped, the layers made these cupcakes just that much prettier to look at. From the graham cracker crust bottom to that utterly delectable marshmallow center, everything about these were just so damn right. I was happy to be able to bake with my mom one last time in that kitchen before I left and they move away. That kitchen is the kitchen dreams are made of..I mean, it is gorgeous, and there’s actually enough space to probably store a few small ponies in there. Don’t ask me why you’d have ponies in a kitchen because even as I wrote it I know that’s totally not sanitary (could be fun, though), but it was the best example my snot-filled head could come up with.

My mother, cupcake maker and cupcake modeler extraordinaire.

Anyway, while the two cupcakes I took with me on the road were spectacular, the frosting kind of slid off of them in transport so I may or may not have been licking the inside of a small Tupperware to glean it all when I got to my hotel on Saturday night. Desperate times…

I am blogging from the comfort of my own living room now, back in hot NM. At least it isn’t surface-of-the-sun hot like Denton was, so that’s nice. You should never be sweating at 7 a.m. by just standing outside getting the dog to go to the bathroom. However, I was away from my house so long that birds had taken over my front door/porch and my poor, poor Freudrick the bear from Ruidoso had literally gotten his head covered in shit. I apologized to him profusely while spraying him down. I was also away from my hosue for so long that I forgot how nice it was. I felt like I was walking into a stranger’s very well-decorated abode. Go me, with the good taste in food AND decor. Apparently I do not suffer much from modesty, though. While it is nice to be back in my own bed, I already miss the scenery of Michigan and spending time with my family. We put the fun in dysfunction.  

And we also take our land pirating very seriously.

I go back to real work on Monday (laaammmeeee allleeeerrrttt), so I am not sure when my next blog will be involving cakes, cupcakes, cookies, or yuppy puppy treats. But I can guarantee you that I will have plenty of stories to share with you that will leave you asking yourself, ‘Wait, people can’t possibly be THAT dense, can they?’ Yes, yes they can. Like my previous students that didn’t know the sinking of the Titanic was a real thing and not just Leonardo Dicaprio’s breakout role into the hearts of tween girls everywhere. I was also once asked if we lived in the Middle East…we don’t even live in the Middle Eastern part of the United States. I honestly question my own sanity and patience level at least seventy times during a regular work week. Til next time, my fellow eaters!

Because I am one of those people who calls her pets “Fur Babies,” I think it will come as no great shock I made Hank a batch of pupcakes for his birthday August 1. 

Is it wrong that I totally wanted to try one of these?

I enjoy my dogchild because the most extensive thing he is ever going to ask me for is a longer walk or an extra helping of kibble. He’s really polite like that. Even when he sasses me it is adorable. Where an actual human baby would have me ripping out my hair at the crazy things it does and questioning my sanity, my fur baby finds me laughing at the crazy things he does and wondering if I should get him a sister. Dogs: The babies for people who don’t really want babies. I’ll tell you how you too can turn your pooch into a bone-afide (got jokes for days, people) lush puppy with these simple, cute, and tasty pupcakes after I take care of a little thing I like to call a “truth session,” which when it occurs without wine is really more just “bitching without a slur.”

Pictured: Katy’s Perfect Day in Huron. A cool 70, breezy, sunny, and on the water…paradise.

 My time in Michigan has unfortunately drawn to a close. I have sincerely enjoyed getting to spend time with my family in the house I spent a very cold 2009-2010 in before moving to New Mexico with Derek. Between the cool temps, absolutely amazing shopping, and general fun had with my folks, I am sad to see it end. I really don’t want to have to go back to the rural suck after getting a taste of life near a metropolitan area again (even if that metropolitan area is Detroit). I’m going to be leaving here kicking and screaming, which could be pretty dangerous considering I’m driving. I love Hank, but I just don’t trust that dog behind the wheel. So, I will be driving home with my grumpy face on, while thinking of crappy things I’d rather do if it meant I got to be in a ten-mile radius of a Target or Ulta again over going back to Eastern NM. That being said, here’s a list! Don’t look so surprised, you know how much I love organizing things…

 Things I’d rather do than go back to Clovis:
1. Wear Crocs in public.
2. Spend an entire day with children.
3. Listen to Justin Bieber’s music anthology in full.
4. Have to stub the same toe each morning in the same spot for a full month.
5. Be locked in a room with cats for a week (bonus- allergic reaction would render me mostly deaf so #3 wouldn’t be so bad).
6. Do my taxes.
7. Do other people’s taxes.
8. Live in a house where all the wall art was crooked and wasn’t able to be fixed. If you understand OCD, you know the struggle. I get twitchy just thinking about it.
9. Be a literal human punching bag.
10. Listen to a vegan explain the merits of becoming a vegan without punching them in the face.

I guess in all fairness, I should mention a few things about Michigan that I will never, ever miss:
1. The startling number of people here who believe socks with sandals are an acceptable fashion choice.
2. The  fact that left-hand turn lanes and left turn lights are practically nonexistent. I hate anyone who is anti-lefty. Throwing major shade your way, planning departments of Michigan.
3. No Blue Bell ice cream. GET IT TOGETHER. It is 2014…if you distributed Blue Bell ice cream to all of Detroit, I bet people there would be a lot more happy and a lot less stabby.

Whew, thanks for letting me get that off my chest. When as naturally prone to sarcasm and self deprecation as I am, you just gotta let the bitch flag fly sometimes, ya heard? Now, back to the regularly scheduled baking blog and less of the crazy woman on a rant blog. PUPCAKES!

The line up: One egg (obviously), 1/2 tsp vanilla, 1/2 tsp baking soda, 1/2 tsp baking powder, 2 TBS veggie oil, 2 TBS of honey, 1/3 C milk, 3/4 C flour, and 1/4 C of dog’s biggest weakness (also commonly referred to as “Jif peanut butter”).

For the icing, grab a tub of whipped cream cheese. I tried to find fat free, but even the people at Philadelphia were like, “Um, what would be the point of that? Seriously.”

This recipe is really, really easy. For one because it is for a dog, so even if you don’t get the ingredients precisely right, it’s not like the dog isn’t going to eat the damn thing anyway. Dogs are probably the best creatures in the world to bake for because as far as they’re concerned, every scrap you give them could be manna from Heaven. For two this recipe is simple because you just throw the ingredients listed in photo one into your mixer and let it blend for a couple minutes. It will be thick and sticky because honey and peanut butter mixed together is nature’s equivalent to super glue. This makes six cakes, so line a muffin tin with six cupcake papers and pour evenly into each. Throw into the oven at 350 for 20 minutes. Your kitchen will smell delicious and when they come out of the oven you will have to remind yourself this is for the dog, not you about five or six times while they cool.

Good enough to eat! But seriously, don’t, they’re for your dog.

I’m still on a trying-to-load-my-piping-bags-in-clever-fashions kick, so I tried the old “bag in the glass” method this week:

Travel coffee mug, you’re the perfect kitchen tool…

The hardest part about this method was finding the right sized glass. Travel coffee mugs fit the bill. Fit your piping bag with the tip of your choice (I used a French tip), and then line it into the cup. Plop the bucket of whipped cream cheese in, and then mix it up for a bit to get rid of the air bubbles. Walla- you’re ready to frost!

So, I may have tried the frosting. It was good, but then it left me wanting a whole pupcake…

 Starting from the outside, just circle in overlapping a bit with each circle and you get these cute little traditional cupcake tops:

Only I would want to make sure a dog’s treat was this pretty.

I placed some cute dog treats in the shape of steaks on top, and then we put a candle in one to further torture the dog and prevent him from eating the treats he had been smelling all afternoon. Poor, poor Hank…heavy sarcasm. In all seriousness, cut these up into bite-sized pieces and give them to your pooch. Hank really appreciated it, and let me know with lots of cuddles and licks after he was done eating.

Licking the plate clean..he truly is my son.

Not only did the dog absolutely adore these (again, what dog wouldn’t, not a hard crowd to please), but they also did not give him any tummy troubles. So this recipe passes my standards, and will definitely be used again the next time someone else wants to throw their dog a birthday party. Call me. Really. Do it. I like baking for dogs because those are calories that aren’t going to end up on my ass. It’s like the safety net of cooking when you’re doing it for a dog. Genius. Til next time, my fellow eaters!

I think I would’ve signed up for a lot of Wilton decorating courses if they could come up with better titles. Instead of “Cake Basics Level 1,” something like “Become the Envy of Fellow Housewives” or “This Won’t Help Your Waistline, but Yoga Pants Are Stretchy Anyway” probably would be both more humorous and accurate. So instead, I turn to my dear friend Pinterest to give me tips and ideas. I do refer to Pinterest as an actual being because referring to it as “just a website” with the obscene amount of time I spend with it would make me seem like a giant loser that no one loves. So not true. I’m a giant loser a few people love and that is mostly thanks in part to how good Pinterest had made me at caking.

I’ve been eyeing dying techniques the past few weeks and finally took the plunge to make cupcakes for our roofers. Yes, my mother asked me to make cupcakes for the roofers while our house gets her hair redid (today is turn inanimate objects into people day, thank you for noticing). This may sound strange, but my mother’s logic is infallible. Give them things like donuts and coffee in the morning and cupcakes after lunch, and the quality of the work goes from shoddy to down right grateful. We’re the dream house for the service trade. Back in Texas, she would leave out holiday cards and flats of Cokes for the garbage men. We were the only house on the block whose trashcans would not only be placed upright back into the container area, but they also even put the lids back on. She probably cut some deal with UPS too, because I’ve never lived anywhere else where my UPS packages arrive at like 8 a.m. Magic.

My cupcakes bring all the roofers to the yard…

These cupcakes are the embodiment of summer. They look like summer. They taste like summer. They smeeeellll like summer (because they’re lemon cupcakes with homemade vanilla almond frosting). So leave it to me to make summer’s perfect cupcake when it has only been hovering around 67 degrees outside. Not that I’m complaining, I’m going to melt to death when I go home next week, so enjoy my witticism before my fingers disintegrate. I’m not even sure that’s strictly a first world problem, either.

I wish my oven light worked…

I forget you can take cool pictures of things baking when your oven light works. Mine at home never has, and since we’ve lived there for a few years already, probably never will. I’m also still not sure what half our light switches do, and my husband constantly seems to be turning the wrong lights on, so you see how intimately familiar we are with our humble dwelling… Let me break down this ridiculously awesome swirled frosting technique (try not to insert chocolate and vanilla swirl Orange is the New Black reference here. If you’re still not watching that show, I’m sad for you).

Haha, look who forgot to rotate the camera…

Lemme get all serious on how to perfect your badassery here for a minute…you need a paintbrush for this and you have to use gel frosting for this to work or you’ll end up with runny dye that combines colors and makes your cupcake tops end up looking like puke. Or worse, the color orange. I really didn’t learn this by mistake. It is so messy to make frosting from scratch, I wasn’t ruining that ish. Now, back to your regularly scheduled sarcasm.

Bonus- you don’t even have to paint in straight lines!

Take some Saran wrap and fold it in half. Pick a few gel colors, or all the gel colors of the rainbow if you’re a hippie (judging), and paint about an inch-wide stripe of each color, alternating as shown above. I used yellow and pink dyes, which look very dark, but as they transfer to the frosting, will fade some. I feel so Martha Stewart-y right now, minus the jail time.

I swear these aren’t mashed potatoes.

Once you’ve painted on your gel frosting (I really can’t stress this gel business enough), plop down a hearty portion of your favorite white frosting recipe. Not to be racist? colorist? against other frosting types?, but you want a white frosting that is so pure as the driven snow it would’ve been Hitler’s favorite frosting. I know, even I felt bad about that reference, but you totally understand how white that frosting should be now so that your dye color isn’t compromised. The frosting doesn’t have to touch all your stripes, probably just most of the middle two.

Duuuude, this is totally stellar.

You’ll then roll your Saran wrap around the frosting (like a giant doobie if you’re going hippie route, still), and make sure one end of the loose wrap is long and skinny (this would be the end of the doobie you’d want to light) before placing twist-ties on both ends to keep the frosting in. Don’t be like me (ever, really, but particularly in this instance) and use too much icing so it ends up being too fat to fit in the piping bag; like anyone over 23 trying to fit into their clothes from high school, this is just a sad circumstance with no easy solution.

Pictured: The piping bag version of a muffin top.

Eventually I managed to cram my Saran wrap bag of frosting into my empty piping bag fitted with large coupler and 1M tip. It was like trying to fit my foot into a shoe size two sizes smaller than my own large boat feet are used to, but I made it work. I then took that long end of frosting that was twist tied, and cut off right above the tie to open my Saran wrap up. You can see how the dye is starting to mix in with the frosting above.

Regard the hedgehog t-shirt telling you to “Stay Sharp,” because you really should, my glorious reader.

Once my bag was full, I simply started in the middle of the cupcake and swirled outward until my rosette was complete. This will leave you with rosettes that contain beautiful stripes of colors. I did this for all 24 cupcakes, and had to make a new bag of frosting for the last 12. Ahem, we may or may not have kept about 6 to 10 of these for our own greed  good. This may or may not be why I know these cupcakes taste, smell, and look like the embodiment of summer. And no orange bleed! I really hate the Chicago Bears, guys. I mean, they’re the lesser of two evils when comparing my hatred of the Bears vs. the Packers in my conference, but, the color orange…go away.

End result: Non-orange, gorgeous swirl.

I meant to blog about this much earlier today, but my mom and I started a puzzle. Not online, but in honest-to-God real life. You know what’s a great activity for two type-A, OCD-compulsed people? No, not therapy, you moron, a puzzle. Organizing pieces and putting everything into place made us collectively sigh a contented sigh of perfect happiness.

Oh the joy, people!

I am sad my time here has almost come to an end, but it has been a very enjoyable one for both of my fur babies and me. Now excuse me while I go nom on some of our leftover tasty cupcakes so I can eat my feelings while feeling a conflicting sense of joy over how good these turned out. Til next time, my fellow eaters!

I actually bled for my art when crafting the cake for this blog. I’ll make this week’s edition of “guess which common, everyday item tried to kill Kate” easy on you- it was the foil lid on a can of decorator frosting. You know what’s truly evil and reminds you hell is real? Foil paper cuts. Before you shake your head and wonder how that’s even remotely possible, just know that when you’re as accident prone and talented as I am, it overlaps into some strange Venn Diagram where things like this are not only in the realm of possibilities, but will most likely happen to you at least once a year for the rest of your existence. I have a half-inch, perfect V-shaped foil paper cut on my left thumb. As a left-handed individual, this has made even the smallest of tasks like shampooing my hair or trying to zip up a pair of jeans a rather obnoxious and annoying reminder that I should probably live in a baby-proofed bubble. How that foil lid jumped up and bit my thumb like a rabid bunny or some other wild creature who’s acquired a taste for human blood (geese, clearly), I am not sure. But it was a bleeder, and it left a deep gash. Luckily, the end result was worth it (and blood-free, thank you):

Ahh, the tastiest basket of roses ever.

About seventy-five years ago (or a few weeks, who’s counting), I blogged about wanting to do a basketweave cake with these awesome vintage tips my mother-in-law mailed to me that have been in the family for quite some time. So thanks to Jan (and my ability to remember to actually bring them on my escape journey from New Mexico up to Michigan), my family is reaping the benefits of her sending them with this scrumptious chocolate cake.

This tip isn’t even in production anymore…God I love feeling elite. I also love polka dots, FYI.

Since my parents have retired, they have put their house up on the market and are shuttling things in between here and their final destination (rereading this I realize it sounds like they’ve decided on a nice mausoleum somewhere, but trust me, they’re still very much alive and kicking regardless of the amount of baked goods I’ve been showering our collective cholesterol levels with). Due to the flux between old home and new home several states over, my mom has packed up any unnecessary kitchen equipment and they’ve hauled it off to storage…so I was without some of the tools of my trade and had to make a couple quick compromises when baking my basketcake (name sticks). I had to use some disposable cake pans that had a scalloped-edge design which I thought would be neat, but turned out to make my cake look sort of like it was baked and then thrown across the room.

It had a slight lean…and this was after trimming the edges to even things out. Oy.

I thought perhaps a quick crumb coat would put me at ease. Know what’s not easy to frost? Tiny little nooks and crannies. Know what has lots of tiny little nooks and crannies? Scalloped-edge cakes. I’m happy to say I persevered (obviously, or you wouldn’t be reading this), and crumb coated the cake. It looked a little less “leany…”

Thank you chocolate, for making everything look good when you’re draped across it.

After the standard freezer cooling time, I removed my cake from the freezer, filled a piping bag with chocolate decorator frosting (this can didn’t bite me), and got ready to work. Note- I totally forgot I was even decorating a cake because I was hungry, big surprise, so this actually sat in the freezer for like an hour. Whoops. The basketweave technique itself is not hard, just very time consuming. Which is totally why you should do this on a full stomach. I can pretty much justify anything, and I realize I probably should’ve become a corporate lawyer.

Straight lines? We don’t need no stinkin’ straight lines! Well, sort of, anyway.

What you do with this technique is pipe a vertical line down your cake, like above. Then you pipe short horizontal lines over that vertical line from top to bottom. Or bottom to top I suppose if you’re one of those people. By those people, I mean the kind that don’t listen to me. I’m raising my eyebrow at you at this very moment. The next step is to pipe another vertical line over the very end of your short horizontal lines. This will leave little “spaces” in between your piping:

On your far right, you can note said space. Unless you’re still choosing not to listen to me, in which case, go read the news or something, you weirdo.

Take your piping tip, bury it in the space, and now you will fill the space in with frosting while dragging your piping bag over the outer vertical line. This sounds confusing, but note how happy (for someone with bitchy resting face) I look at the repetitive motions:

Why, yes, I do like to think of myself as the poster child for monotonous tasks.

So I continued to do this while happily thinking how much sense life makes when its drawn out in vertical and horizontal lines. I got the different textures because one side of my tip was grooved, and the other was flat, so I alternated grooved vertical lines with smooth horizontal ones. Not sure if a new tip is being made with double features or if I’m still just supremely elitist. After a few breaks to relieve my hands (if I was a robot, this would be so much easier), I ended up with this:

One basket of cake, coming right up!

You know how I feel about naked cake tops, so I decided my Basketcake TM needed to be filled with roses. Because roses with a 1M tip are the most supremely easy thing in the world to do, and again, not a robot, just act like one, my hand hurt really badly. Little did I know things were about to get much more painful. Ahh, ignorance, you stupid little harlot. After the carnage of opening the new can of decorator frosting left me bloodied and wondering if I could start my foray into robotics with a bionic thumb, I mixed my frosting with purple and pink dye:

Pictured: 1M tip, loads of frosting. Not pictured: Maimed thumb.

Then I swirled roses on to the top of my cake. My mom didn’t believe me when I said roses are truly foolproof until she saw me in action. Nothing like seeing your bandaged child somehow managing to make it through the struggle and come out on the other side, right? I’m not over exaggerating, it really freaking hurt. She wanted to stitch me up. My mom always wants to stitch everything up. God rest her soul (again, I promise she is still alive).

End result: worth the pain.

It was really awesome to get to decorate a cake with my mom rooting me on from the side lines. Should I ever open a cakery, I’m going to hire her on as a full-time cheerleader. Cakeleader? Baked-goods booster? I got nothing for this one. I’ll probably also hire my stepdad on as a full-time cake sampler. That man appreciates a good cake with such zest, I have no doubt in my mind I where I got it from. Needless to say, the cake only looked like this for a few minutes before we cut in to it:

Think you’re safe in that glass case (of emotion)? Guess again, Basketcake TM.

We’re still only halfway through with this cake and I’m already plotting up some pretty cupcakes for next week, so we’ll see how that goes for both mind and stomach. Til next time, my fellow eaters!

I know my fellow eaters, it has been awhile. But it is really hard to maintain my usual level of snark and sass when I am literally living in greener pastures for the time being. Michigan, I certainly don’t remember you being this lovely when I lived here several years ago..then again, surviving living somewhere in the Southwest where it is brown and smells like cow dung all the time can definitely change a person’s perspective on the Midwest. It has been 70 here for days…at no point have I felt like bursting into flames was even a remote  possibility and it is mid July! I get to sleep with the windows open without being assaulted by the Eau de Cow Patty scent I mentioned earlier, and take my dog for long walks on the gorgeous golf course- usually in a warm jacket- while I wonder whether or not it is even possible for foliage to actually be this green, or if they put something in the water here. You know, because there is actually water here. Don’t even get me started on civilization…I forgot that Old Navy was even a thing anymore until I got up here and nearly had a heart attack (thanks for all the clothes, Mom!!). Needless to say, I’ve been on cloud nine, so being snarky and witty is really hard. That’s what she said. Okay, so I haven’t totally lost my mojo.

My parents have made us feel more than welcome to come home and crash until sometime in August when I absolutely, positively have to go back to the suck for work. Hank is, as anyone who knows Hank would expect, the king of the castle here, and well, the hedgehog still hates everything but loves no longer having dry skin. But as a form of payment for all the cool neat things my folks keep taking me to go do while we’re here, I’ve been baking. Baking up a damned storm. The day after I got here, I made a huge batch of peanut butter pudding cookies and lemon drop cookies (the hubster also got a large care package of each) as a “Thank you for helping my sanity by allowing me to escape the desert” present. But since I’ve already shown you how to make those, I was waiting to blog about something new. Cue the segue…

Presentation is key, people!

So, I get up to the Midwest and the first thing I want is something from the South. Coincidence? No. You see what my poor husband has to put up with? It is a really good thing I come from a good-looking gene pool and I am handy in the kitchen. Anywho, once I got up to the Big D (Detroit in this case, not Dallas),  I immediately started craving cobbler. Because I always want what I cannot have. Looking at you, Corvette Stingrays, Alexander Skarsgard, and perfect skin. Ahem. Luckily, Pinterest is still a thing up here in Michigan. I know, I talk about it like it is another country. But that’s because I’m further north than parts of Canada right now, so to me, it is. I’m going to carry on with this theme later, but first let me give you a quick run down on this cobbler. It is so crisp on the outside and melt-on-your-tongue moist on the inside that your taste buds will have no idea what’s going on, but they will love it.

The line up…

Like any good anything that ever existed and could be thrown into an oven, you’re gonna need a buttload of butter for this recipe. Twelve tablespoons to be precise- four to place in your 9×13 baking dish, which you want to throw in the oven while it preheats to 350 to melt that deliciousness, and the rest to be melted and whisked in (not off to a tropical paradise) with the 1 1/2 cups of flour, 2 1/2 teaspoons of baking soda, 3/4 teaspoon of salt, 1 1/4 cups of sugar, and 1 1/2 cups of milk.

Get ready to throw that yummy goodness in your mixing bowl.

And whisk away like your life depended on it.

So that is the “crust” portion of your cobbler. For this cobbler, I went with a blueberry filling. My mom is weird (I totally get it from her, and I love it), and doesn’t care for peach cobbler, otherwise I would’ve gone with that. So, should you also have a family member who feels like the only good peach is Princess Peach from Mario, get yourself a 16 ounce bag of frozen blueberries (or whatever other fruit) for this cobbler. Throw them in a bowl, carefully, might I add…otherwise you’re gonna end up with purple fingers, and unless you’re a hardcore Vikings fan like me, that might mean you’re gonna have a bad time. Don’t read that last part if you’re a Packers fan. Handle those blueberries as much as possible…that purple will wash out instantly, I promise…

Then take a bowl and mix together 1/4 cup of sugar and a teaspoon or so of lemon zest. I consider myself to be rather zesty, so I did a heaping teaspoon. Take a tablespoon of that mixture and throw it in with your berries. Now, mash up those blueberries. This part is fun because you either feel like you’re making moonshine or you get to take your week’s frustration out on some innocent, unassuming fruit. No, I don’t consider myself a sociopath, why do you ask?

I mean, who doesn’t like blueberries with a ton of sugar mixed in? Don’t be friends with people who don’t…they need clinical help.

Remove your pan with melty, delicious butter in it and pour in your batter. Then take a few spoonfuls at a time of your berry mix, and plop that purply goodness on top of the batter.

I used my 1/4 cup measuring cup. Less dishes make me happy.

This is gonna be gooooood.

 Totally not the normal way to make cobbler, but this makes it even better. Would I lie to you? No. Not unless you’re a Green Bay fan, obviously. Then sprinkle the top with the remaining zesty sugar mix, and throw in the oven for 40-45 minutes. Rotate your pan halfway through unless you’re the only person in the world with an oven that actually cooks evenly. The end result is cobbler crust that bakes up around the fruit, ensuring a perfect fruit-to-melty-awesome-crust ratio. Have the patience of a saint, and wait 30 minutes before cutting so it can set. Desserts can be really demanding sometimes. The nerve of those calorie-laden bastards. Top with vanilla bean ice cream and enjoy. You’ll enjoy this more if you’re in state with Blue Bell ice cream..get it together, Michigan.

I kinda wanted to just dive in, face first. All or nothing, ya know?

 Now, back to my aside about Michigan. There are a few things going on in this state that make me wonder whether or not sane people are in charge of things. Namely, cement trucks and police vehicles.

I’ve noticed a growing trend amongst cop cars in the South. That trend is, ‘let’s make it as hard as humanly possible for anyone to even tell we’re in a police vehicle until after we’ve already ticketed them and driven away.’ In Michigan, we see the exact polar opposite:

Is this shade of day-glo blue noticeable enough, or could we go day glo-ier?

Michigan: It’s uh, it’s really cold out there for about six months of the year. Think if we paint these squad cars electric blue and place a giant siren on top people will see us from at least a mile away and slow down so we don’t have to stop ’em, eh? I don’t want my Tim Horton’s getting cold.

We wanted larger tires, but didn’t want to seem too “Fast and the Furious” about things.

Texas: You though you’d try to get through the largest contiguous US state in under eight hours? Hahahaha…we will find you.

Also, a total, throw-you-for-a-loop-and-nearly-cause-you-to-drive-off-the-interstate moment that happens when you’re up here is the first time you encounter a cement truck. Now, if you’re from the South, this is what you think of when you see the words “cement truck:”

There’s absolutely nothing unsettling about this vehicle.

But these words take on a completely different, and frankly, terrifying image up here:

What the hell is that?! Is it going to eat my children?

It is completely ass-backwards is what it is. Like the scene in Spaceballs: The Movie when the president gets teleported to another room and his ass is on backwards. As someone who regularly sees the formerly mentioned cement truck driving down the highway, to see the latter makes it look as though that truck is driving down the road backwards at a really unsafe speed. The brain takes a few moments to process this information, and then either shuts down entirely, or gives up all hope in humanity.

Now, other than these two things, I can pick up what Michigan is putting down for the most part as long as I’m gone by winter. It is beautiful, and frankly, people aren’t quite as stupid as they are down in the Southwest. Even the cashiers at the grocery store can hold a pleasant and totally coherent conversation with you up here. Not one single grunt! All my bitching about Southern hospitality when I lived here must have sunk in a bit, because people are generally not too rude either (but not during winter, people are always mean during winter because it feels like their souls are dying with each inch of accumulating snow).

The only thing I really miss about the Southwest/Texas is this:

God said: “I’m so sorry about how flat and brown it is here…have a beautiful sky to make up for it.”

I have a sense of utterly unwavering pride for Texas when I see how plain the sunsets are around the rest of the country; like, my heart hurts I’m so proud. A Texan’s pride in our home state is real, and it is deep. We may not have trees and grass so green it looks photoshopped, but dammit, we’ve got the prettiest skies anyone will ever see. My cobbler would taste really good while watching that sunset, so, til next time, my fellow eaters!

Unless you live under a rock (looking at you, Canada), you all know yesterday was Independence Day. The day Will Smith saved us from a superior alien race. Wait….that’s not right. Different Independence Day. Yesterday, our nation continued to celebrate freedom and the awesomeness that is the U.S. of A. by barbequing, getting sunburned, drinking cheap beer, and blowing stuff up. ‘MERICA! I am a total patriot. I know, I go on and on about Texas (you would, too, if you were from there), but our country as a whole is still pretty damn legit. I enjoy the hell out of some freedom. This enjoyment is only boosted by my pride in my husband who does a pretty good job serving our country, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, he is not here to enjoy fireworks and all aforementioned fun. So I’ll probably have to make this cake again next year:

Can’t you just taste the freedom?

That’s a lotta cake, yo.

My house still smells like cake two days later. And it is awesome.

The smallness of the circle will also make your thumbs look huge, too. Stop judging me.

The circle of liiiifeeeee….

And it moves us allllll….

Cutting things apart never looked so tasty.

The most delicious sandwich, ever.

Must. Resist. Adding. More. “Circle of Life” lyrics.

It doesn’t look pretty or patriotic at this point, I apologize.

Because without the crumb coat, you will make America look so sad.

At this point, I was so tired I was having trouble seeing straight. Suffer for your country!!!

I swear I wasn’t drunk.That frosting in a can is tricky!!!

Even when I am a zombie, I like to overachieve, so I decorated my cake board with stars, too.

‘merica, you look delicious.

This is the land of excess. Excess cake.

Seriously though, FREEZE some of the leftover layers and save them to make another blue and white cake later. Eat the red velvet scraps because you worked hard, and you deserve it. I may or may not still be eating plain cake scraps for breakfast every morning. The world will never know. Continue to have a safe and kick ass Fourth of July weekend, as only a true patriot could! …just don’t lose any digits in the process..til next time, my fellow eaters!

…sounds so much nicer than “Cookies: How to Bribe People into Doing What You Want by Manipulating Their Sweet Tooth,” “Cookies: How to Make People like You with Minimal Effort,” or “Cookies: You Don’t Have to Worry about Being Socially Awkward When Your Mouth Is Full,” right? In case you hadn’t guessed it, I made a few batches of cookies yesterday to take to a party. Cookies = winning.

Pictured: Tiny discs of awesome.

I figured out how to make my awesome America cake for the Fourth, so I was free to sample a few new recipes and tell you how wonderfully tasty they are. Specifically, peanut butter pudding cookies and lemon drop cookies. Though they look bakery quality, these little tasty little sugar wafers are effortless to make (minus the mess- damn my constant struggle with powdered sugar). I mean, my friends didn’t even mind (possibly because they didn’t know) that I was using them as little sampling lab rats to see if these cookies could pass the test and be sent across the pond to my husband. Considering I only had a few leftovers, I’d say they’re good to go. Let me tell you how you too can coerce people by baking for them in a lovely step-by-step tutorial.

Yeah, don’t tell your friends how simple this is, or they may not care so much.

Watch out, these peanut butter pudding cookies may break the bank when it comes to ingredients…heavy, heavy sarcasm. One cup of peanut butter (JIF- because there is no substitute, Skippy…), two eggs, two 3.4 ounce packages of vanilla instant pudding mix, and you’re set. You don’t even need a mixer for these- neither stand nor hand! Start by cracking your eggs into a medium bowl. My mother taught me to always start with the eggs. In the event the chicken has gone funky (see what I did there?!), the rest of your ingredients are uncontaminated and free to have their own set of problems when the time comes. Then throw everything else except the sugar crystals into your bowl and mix away…

Simplicity can be so comforting. And so tasty.

At this point, you should both ensure your oven is at 350 and your dog doesn’t resent you for breaking out the JIF without filling up a Kong, too. Then take your cookie scoop (because I assume you’re like me and have a ridiculous amount of kitchen tools at your disposal), and scoop, scoop away. This should yield 16-18 cookies. I say 16-18 because by the time you taste test a few to make sure no one will die if they eat them, you’ll be left with 16. Roll your little round pieces of heaven into the bowl of sugar crystals to coat. Plop on a tray lined with parchment paper (or a Silpat if someone loved you enough to buy you one..ahem) and then get your fancy on and use a fork to create hatches in the top of the cookie like so:

Getting to smush things is so, so satisfying…red flag.

Once done fancifying the cookies, bake for 13-14 minutes. You know, I absolutely abhor pudding. I feel as though it is only acceptable for the following groups of people to eat it: the elderly, toddlers, and people who just had dental work. But adding pudding into cookie dough makes literally the best damn cookies I’ve ever had in my life. I believe this is what is called irony.

Delicious irony.

Now, on to the lemon drop cookies. People will honestly think you’re a damn pro if you bring these to a party. And by pro I mean professional baker, not prostitute. Although, you’d be surprised what people will do for a cookie. Again, this recipe consists of so many ingredients you may second guess your chances at becoming an awesome, cookie baking machine.

The bottle of Jameson in the background is actually not a part of the recipe, but you could totally go for it if you’re adventurous.

Guess whose Wal-mart doesn’t have plain lemonade Kool-Aid? Yeah, big surprise there. So use a packet of that if your Wal-mart isn’t as useless as your grandmother after five apple sangrias. If you’re in my boat, just use a packet of Country Time Lemonade- On the Go! Italicized just like on the packet! The only other things you need are a lemon box cake mix, two eggs, the juice from one actual lemon, and 1/3 cup of veggie oil. I used my mixer for this just because I missed it. Can people have separation anxiety from kitchen appliances? Start with your eggs again (just in case, people!), and then throw everything else into your mixing bowl sans the powdered sugar. Save that to make a huge mess later.

Pictured: A future clean kitchen ruiner.

Bump that oven up to 375 and get ready to get sticky. Heeeyooohhh. Seriously though, the one downside to these cookies are they are a friggin’ hot mess. The dough has the consistency of cake batter, possibly because the dough is made mostly of…cake batter. Science, bitches. I used my cookie scoop again, but these cookies end up doing a great deal of expanding in the oven thanks to their consistency (I’m told it’s key), so I’d go with a teaspoon next time instead. Your hands are going to be covered in batter because you need to roll your scoops around in the giant mountain of powdered sugar you have in a spare bowl. Don’t roll these into tight little balls…if you do, when they cook, your powdered sugar will be all spaced out and weird and make something that smells so good look so wrong. I know because I did this after shoving them into the oven for 8 minutes on my still only parchment lined baking trays. Silpat liner, why must you elude me?

They looked so pretty before they went into the oven.

But then I immediately added more sugar to cover up the weirdness.

No one wants to eat an ugly dessert. I will always stand by this. So go the extra mile, make the bigger mess, and add more powdered sugar to the tops of your cookies if they come out looking like Silly Putty that fell into a bag of flour or crack. I’m not judging you, or what you do with your Silly Putty- but now you know exactly what those cookies looked like before I added more sugar, so, you’re welcome. This recipe yields about two dozen cookies, but your friends will probably only see 22 of them. Always sample the goods first, ya know, as a public service.

The peanut butter and lemon scents made my house smell surprisingly good and not at all conflicted. No sarcasm.

These cookies will help you win at life because if you’re feeling shitty for whatever reason (bad hair day, feeling gross, Netflix doesn’t stream the show you wanted to watch, tired of feeling like you’re melting to death when you go outside, etc.), when people make the “yum” noise while eating them (you know which one I mean), you know you brought them that yum. You are responsible for the joy happening to their taste buds. You are a cookie rock star, and people will love you for it. Cookie Monster would have your ass on #1 speed dial if he actually existed. So the next time you need cheering up, a favor, or just a general reminder that you win at life, bake a few batches of these for your friends and family. It brought me out of my “my husband’s birthday is today and we can’t be together” funk, which is like a level 7 funk. Totally major. So I will definitely enjoy making a few batches of these to send to him in a few weeks…because up next is celebrating ‘Merica’s birthday with a hopefully kick ass cake to rival even the most patriotic of Americana. Til next time, my fellow eaters!

This past weekend I spent up in Denton with my sister, her fiance, and my little namesake niece. During my four-day stay, I was reminded of how unbelievably humid North Texas is, and also the fact that every living creature there is actively trying to maim you. I am sure there is a direct correlation between the two, but that’s something for a scientist to describe, not a girl who bakes cakes. Speaking of, I did bake my sister a birthday cake because this is what great sisters do…you know, name their children after you or bake you cakes. I suppose one of these greatly outweighs the other when read just in print, but it was a really, really yummy cake y’all.

And so festive! Ole!

I have been wanting to do glitter numbers for a birthday cake for awhile now, and thankfully my sister obliged me and didn’t mind that there was a giant 3-0 staring her back in the face when it came time for birthday cake. Yes, so far she’s winning the better sister award, I realize this. I’ll get in to detail about how to remind your very own loved ones that they’re losing the battle with age later, but the most impressive part about this cake is that I had to make it sans stand mixer.

Simplified tools of the trade.

It is totally weird to bake in someone else’s kitchen, and I realize it must make me a cake snob (which I’ve totally earned the right to be called), but I have such a higher appreciation for my mixer at home now. A hand mixer just takes too damn long. And by too damn long, I literally only mean an additional two minutes. But those are two minutes I could’ve spent eating something or drinking something. I may have a slight issue with gluttony. Either way, I mixed that sucker up better than a damn martini, and poured her in a 9×13 glass pan. My sister happened to have a purple pan, which I think offsets the chocolate frosting and colorful candles quite nicely. Cake shui, bitches.

Never, ever forget to smooth your cake out with a spatula, people!

After another several minute battle of smoothing out the batter with a spatula, she went into the oven. Glass pans can’t exactly get slammed on to the counter top the way my round metal pans can when I smooth those out before baking. I’m assuming cake sprinkled with glass isn’t great for the body. But you know what IS great? Getting to bake a cake at sea level so you don’t have to pretend to actually know how to make adjustments to your oven temp and cooking time. I put that thing in the oven and walked the hell away for 25 minutes. It was so liberating. After a few hours of  letting the cake cool and running errands (just try to keep me away from a DSW), I shamefully nuked canned frosting for 25 seconds before pouring it on to the cake. Hey, it was either spend all day making everything from scratch, or enjoy time being a productive member of the greater Denton shopping society. So when going that route, always nuke the canned frosting; it spreads on so smoothly with little-to-no-effort for your wrist and spatula:

Also pictured: Ridiculously large cookie cutters.

As you can see, all you need to age-shame your family members for their birthdays are large cookie cutters. I had to order these from Amazon Prime because surprise, surprise, nowhere in Clovis had large cookie cutters. Now instead of just a “3” and “0,” I have like a fifty-piece set of cookie cutters. Kate will soon be baking more cookies instead of cakes, apparently. I simply positioned my cutters on the middle of the cake, and SLOWLY, PEOPLE, SLOWLY, sprinkled glitter stars inside of the cutters. I began to get overzealous toward the end and a few stars landed outside of the cutters and on my smoothed frosting. Without my emergency cake tweezers (yes, this is a real thing), I was powerless to remove them, and they stared me in the face mocking me for the rest of the day. Before removing the cutters, press your glitter down as firmly as possible, and then painstakingly slowly, pick the cutters straight up with no wiggling or odd movements. This was a small victory for me, as my motor skills seem to be improving slightly and less spastically.

Those five stars outside the three- they’re still laughing at me.

I finished this cake up by piping a shell border and adding in some squiggly candles. I thought they would look cool, and I did love the neons, but guess what squiggles aren’t? Orderly. Guess what OCD people like me adore? Order. Lesson learned. We also put out a really nice spread for the party:

Pictured: ORDER. Snack shui, bitches!

In addition, I made my delicious spinach queso dip, whose recipe will remain secret only because it is so easy. I can’t just give you everything, people. The night was a pure success in my book. For one because my sister enjoyed herself immensely, and for another because I got to bust out my choreographed dance moves to “Spice Up Your Life” with my hetero life-mate, Taren, during the musical interlude portion of the evening. I mean, what girl our age didn’t spend most of her 11th or 12th year on this planet learning all the sweet Spice Girl dances moves? You should see what I’m capable of when “Say You’ll Be There” comes on my XM radio. Shortly thereafter, I said let them eat cake:

I also sing the birthday song with LOTS of pizzazz.

And once done breaking hearts (or glasses) with a stirring rendition of “Happy Birthday,” we went on to enjoy the evening. And lots of cake for the rest of the weekend. However, a few weren’t quite as jubilant about the cake because they couldn’t have any…

“Worst. Party. Ever.” -Hank and Roger

“Ahem, I was told there would be cake?” -Little Aurie Kate

It wouldn’t have been a party without cake, just like it wouldn’t be summer if I wasn’t covered in at least 5 bug bites at any given moment. I’m off to go dip myself in Benadryl itch cream and curse the need to ever leave the house. I will be taking this upcoming weekend off from caking because I have a wicked awesome idea in mind for a Fourth of July cake, so I need plenty of time to prepare to blow your mind (figuratively of course). I loved being able to spend time with my family, but Clovis actually wins one for once because we came home to a nice, dry arrid 80 degree temp. Once home, I could simply stand outside without breaking into a profuse, druggie-type hot and yet cold sweat. So to that I say to you, Denton:

Til next time, my fellow eaters!

Before I get down to business, can anyone tell me why I have “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” stuck in my head? I mean, I don’t really mind…it is a catchy little diddy that takes me back to my youth while also putting a pep in my step. And can we just talk about how dreamy Kevin Richardson and Nick Carter STILL are to this day? I seriously know how to pick my celebrity crushes. I just had to get that off my chest, and I hope for the remainder of your duration reading this entry, you’re singing this song in your head too, remembering that BSB > ‘N Sync. Moving right along…while I did bake this past week, I did not bake cakes; obviously, I went a different route.

Om nom, nom, cookies! For another great song to get stuck in your head, Youtube “Om nom, nom, babies.” You won’t regret it. Promise.

I baked D a batch of extra large M&M chocolate chip cookies and another batch of equally massive Andes mint chocolate chip cookies. I know you probably noticed that extra space on my parchment paper there…I promise the remaining two cookies were in the oven. I mean, I did have to eat one of each just to make sure they didn’t taste horrible. But I did this long before the photos occurred. These cookies are massive, but they should also withstand shipping all the way overseas, and not just because my former time spent with FedEx taught me so, so many things (like, yes, people do ask if they can ship human remains. I mean, really??!). These cookies have a secret ingredient to keep them super soft and chewy on the inside:

Hint: The secret ingredient isn’t the brown sugar…

It’s the Jello! Vanilla instant pudding and pie filling to be exact. Add a 3.4 ounce package in your favorite, everyday (most likely Nestle Toll House) cookie recipe, and walla- cookies that stay so chewy you’ll think its magic. Or something like that. But really delish either way. I’m sure the extra butter love doesn’t hurt things either. You’ll also want to adjust the size of the cookie dough scoops so that these bad boys have a proper amount of chunk to them (I went with 1/4 C):

Also, if you’re OCD and Type A like me, you’ll go the extra mile and put more M&M’s on top of the cookie so they look pretty.

So the Andes mint cookies aren’t as pretty, but they taste so much better that you almost don’t even notice. On account of how fast you’ll eat them.

 The other thing you wanna do to make these cookies even freakin’ better is to chill your shaped dough in the fridge for at least two hours. I left mine overnight. Don’t make the same mistake I did though and cook your dinner AFTER you’ve already inhaled several spoonfuls of cookie dough. You know, to make sure the integrity of said cookies are going to be wonderful enough for your husband to eat. That’s what I’m going with…I mean, my tuna cakes were really good, but after the tongue tastes the dough, little else will ever satisfy it. And by tuna cakes, I mean crab cakes but with tuna. Because there’s no such thing as fresh crab meat out here. If there was, I think I’d question everything about life.

It just looks so…healthy.

The next day, I begrudgingly ate salad for lunch in attempt to keep from going full inner fat kid on my body. I cooked my dough at 350 for 17 minutes. The original recipe said 11, but since my oven is more temperamental than a tantrum-throwing toddler, absolutely no melting had occurred after 11 minutes. I’m not sure if it was the parchment paper I use to keep the bottom of my cookies from burning or what, but I required six more minutes to gooey perfection. The outsides were golden brown, and the insides still slightly doughy. I think for cookie baking (I tried, no good mash up of the words “cookie” and “baking” can be made), I need a Silpat liner. If I happen to have any rich benefactors reading my blog, I promise to try to class things up around here a bit if you send me one. Mostly because my birthday falls right after Christmas, and I have no other time to ask for  something as trivial as a Silpat liner. First world problems, ya know? But either way, I highly recommend this recipe. I mean, don’t you just want one of these so badly???

Heaven on my counter tops, but a lifetime on the hips.

When shipping overseas (or even regular destinations since the USPS seems to take its precious time), it is helpful to add a piece of bread into a freezer bag with your cookies before boxing them up in an airtight Tupperware plied with plenty of Saran wrap to create a cushion. This way the bread gets stale instead of your cookies. I, however, was of course out of bread, and instead used hamburger buns. I’m sure that is going to be all sorts of confusing for my poor husband when he gets them. “Am I supposed to make a sandwich with these or has my wife clearly lost her damn mind?” A little of both, sweetie…a little of both. Til next time, my fellow eaters!