Tuesday, November 10, 2009


Rules disturb me, frighten me, anger me and make me dash my head against the wall however recently I've tried to conform. Oh shit you say, Rebekah - conform!?! What is this little line of bullshit she's shoveling and why must I swallow it?

Open wide and swallow because it's going to taste of the sweetness of sugar and spice and everything nice. My recent switch to rules would be the rules of measurements and recipes. Since my introduction into the world of domesticity I've always just 'winged it' and with that I've managed to amaze and wonder. (heaping it on even thicker now)

--- seriously I don't have a huge ego, I'm not that great of a cook but lately I've had such a low self esteem I need to buoy myself up on something ---

Once a month in my attempt to assist the husband in "his impress the big-wigs" at the job-site, I've been sending him in with and/or catering lunches. This is quite an effort at times, these can be for as few as 7 and as many as 15-20.
Sans assistant, I get to work providing box lunches along with scratch made soups/chowders/stews/chili and all of the fixin's that go alongside. Additionally I also set out place settings, have beverages...you get the gist AND stay out of sight an sound, then do the clean up and go home to wash up the dirty plates too.

Right now there's an important close-out on some of the portions of the job and a new situation is arising where it would be nice to thank the customer, and I mentioned perhaps a gift from the heart would be nice...ahhhh shit, here goes. I said maybe a cake or some cookies.

Now we damn well know that hubby already puts in almost 60 hours weekly he's not about to come home and bake up a storm and make pretty little packages to boot. This is where I get to step in, and for right now I'm in the trial and error stage. If it sucks the 'boys' on the job-site (that would be the grunts in hardhats) get to eat the mistakes until I finesse the recipes.
Baking is an art-form in my eyes, it just doesn't come naturally to a cook and cooking doesn't come naturally to a baker.

What makes this all the more interesting is that I am a disaster in the kitchen. Husband just stands out of the way because I'm a whirling dervish, many are reminded of Animal from the Muppet Show. Arms flying, knives chopping, bits of vegetables rolling here and there and now I'm going into the world of baking lord help my kitchen FLOUR EVERYWHERE.

Eggs cracked, ooze dribbled on the counter. Granules of sugar glistening as the light from my overhead fluorescent fixture bounce off them.
My face reminiscent of a circus clown, either just starting to put on their make up or starting to remove it - smears of white down my face and my cheeks red, flushed from the heat off of the oven preheating for the cakes.
The smell of each thing cooking drives me a little bit insane. I have such a sweet tooth, but my eyes and nose are always bigger than my stomach despite how chubby I am. My real love is salty but when I smell sweet all I want is sweet. There's no way to want salty because you can't smell salty cooking!

This morning at 4 a.m. I approached the kitchen with trepidation, a recipe I've been wanting to tackle has been sitting before me for 3 weeks and today I decided was THE DAY. Yesterday I was in bed most of the day feeling like crap so I didn't sleep last night so what better thing can I do than something quiet. Certainly can't run the sweeper and I can't turn up the tunes and dance (not that I can because my back hurts like Hell still) but I can go and whip some simple ingredients into a treat that feels like sin.

Wish me luck .. I hope it tastes like cake and not charcoal!