rendiru: (avatar)
It happened over 15 years ago. I was a young wife, eager to bake from scratch my hubby's favorite cake to impress him and further cement my place in his heart. I lovingly bought the ingredients, assembled them according to instruction, placed the batter in a pan, cooked at the appropriate temperature for the alloted time, and eagerly opened the oven to remove my masterpiece. Alas, it was an unlovely fallen cake, very gooey in the middle and resembling fudge or undercooked brownies. I have not baked another since.

Until today.

I decided that I couldn't let a recipe get the best of me forever, so I set out on an adventure very similar to that of 15 years ago. Once again I assembled the ingredients and lovingly prepared the cake, even though it is no longer hubby's favorite. I felt sure that the mistake I had made long ago could be explained by the fact that I had folded in the beaten egg-whites with a mixer instead of by hand. This time I mixed everything correctly.

It smelled heavenly while it was baking. My son and I were feeling drooly as we went about our afternoon's entertainment in the room adjoining the kitchen, he playing his video games and I reading. The timer beeped. I sauntered to the oven, mitt on hand, to remove the symbol of my triumph. I opened the oven - it was still wet in the middle.

Damn!

I decided to leave it in there for another few minutes. I checked on it anxiously every minute or two by peeking through the oven door. Please - oh please, I hoped, let this one turn out.

It was not to be. The edges of the cake, so lovely and moist when the timer first beeped its hopeful message, are not quite as firm as a dried sponge. The middle, that stubbornly soggy realm that cried out for more time, is cooked to an edible consistency, but is not the mouth-watering invitation to gustatory ecstasy that I had envisioned.

I cried a little inside as I saw what had become of my cake, but I decided that I must not let myself be overcome by this failure. I have another bar of german chocolate in the cupboard. I know I will try again someday, and I will overcome this blot on my otherwise excellent baking record.

Maybe next time I should use the three 9-inch round pans that the recipe suggests instead of a 9x12 oblong.
rendiru: (flower)
Three bookring books arrived at my house in one box today. I feel so book rich! I had been wondering which book to start next, but this makes it easy. I'll be starting Peace Like a River by Leif Enger this evening, read a little bit of The Courage to Give before bed, and save The DaVinci Code for the weekend.

Life is good.

I think I'll make some oatmeal cookies (without raisins, thankyouverymuch) for this week's lunches then go for a walk before dinner. I'm still waiting for the boys to pick up their backpacks, jackets, and assorted clutter so I can vacuum the family room. Hmm... Maybe I can bribe them into putting away the Christmas decoration boxes with warm cookies...

It could happen.
rendiru: (Default)
My inner child is ten years old today

My inner child is ten years old!


The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla

And I'm playing hookie from scho... I mean work.

Nah, I'm off fair and square, but the weather is so yucky that I don't want to do anything but sit here and play with the computer. Maybe I'll make cookies.

/drool... mmmm, cookies

gotta go.

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rendiru

January 2015

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