spring feels so, so incredibly good.
cupcakes are not the answer.
I mostly write about my repressed Irish family. example:
“Everything you made was absolutely terrible. Seriously, natural born talent is far beyond you when it comes to baking. We’re all really glad you stopped.”
My family is really supportive of me.
After I decided that I didn’t have what it took to make it in the fashion industry (talent, or the “competitive edge”), I thought I’d give baking a try. I really enjoyed it, and took time with everything I did. Martha Stewart and Julia Child cookbooks amassed in my kitchen, and more money was spent on sugar and food coloring than rent or insurance. (I don’t advise trying this.) I mastered meringue and whipped up a mean mousse (or so I thought).
Seeing as my parents became all health conscious and didn’t follow the Cult Of Butter (also known as any of Julia Child’s cookbooks), I left most of the consuming to my brother when he came to see us in Houston. He seemed to like everything, as it was always gone within the day. I guess I didn’t put much thought into the fact that he was in his mid twenties, living alone, and had no one to cook for him. Therefore, he’d probably eat cat food if I microwaved it for him. The cheesecake brownies were constantly scarfed down, and sugar cookies were consumed like they were going out of style. I had always just assumed that my parents didn’t want to eat them because they were watching their weight. Boy, was I wrong.
See, my mother had never been much of a cook while I was growing up (see also: raised by McDonalds and Papa Johns). So, I never really had much guidance in the area of the culinary arts. She was the type that would have stored her sweaters in the oven (a la Carrie Bradshaw) if it weren’t for frozen pizza that she had to cook every once in a while. The only person that really shown some light into my love of all things sweet was my Grandma, who lived in rural Illinois. We rarely saw each other, but when we did, she made the most delicious blackberry cobbler. To this day, I swear she made it with rainbow dust and unicorn tears. It was THAT good.
Make no mistake, my mother could heap up a frozen Marie Calendar pot pie like nobody’s business. And no one compared when it came to parties. My mother could buy food at the grocery store and present it as if she made it like you’ve never seen. Though looking back, I’ve definitely found the secret to the way she gets away with this. When attending a party, all you have to do is show up with something on a fancy looking platter (even this is negotiable) and a lot of booze (less food, more booze, ideally).
