Recently, while sitting in my chair drinking the last of my breakfast coffee, an idea staggered into my mind. I should confess most thoughts are quite lonesome once they enter my mind, however this one had a nagging component to it. Experience has taught me I must never ever succumb to these unusual intruders. Whenever I entertain any of them, I'm the one getting charred. This time was different. Do not ask me how it was different, or how I understood it was different, it simply was a great idea in my mind. The thought: why not amaze my other half by baking her a cake?
Count The Mistakes In This Cake Baking Episode
I understand what you're probably thinking. When this suggested itself to me, I believed the exact same thing. The more I thought about it, the more wonderfully delicious it sounded. How can anything go wrong if I am doing it for my other half? The only thing I needed to decide on was what kind of cake ought to I bake. After an extended period of ruminating, I settled on a lemon sponge cake with peanut butter icing. This was going to be the very best surprise my spouse has ever gotten from me.
Being in a prominent location in the kitchen is my better half's Betty Crocker Cookbook. I don't know the length of time she has had that book, it's been in our kitchen area for as long as I can remember-- which really may not be that long when I come to believe of it.
I Had A Recipe, I Just Forgot To Follow It
I took the book, plopped down in my preferred chair and opened it. How do you check out a cookbook? As I scanned it, it did not have any rhyme or reason to me. In musing on the book I stated to myself, how important is it to follow a recipe? Real men don't follow recipes. Putting the book back in its revered spot, I concluded that considering that this was my cake, I didn't need assistance from any person else, particularly Betty Crocker. This is the difference in between females and males. Women require a great deal of instructions, while males enjoy the liberty of doing their own thing. I knew precisely what I wanted. A lemon sponge cake, with peanut butter icing. What could be easier? I started out smartly. On the counter stood my trusty Cuisinart stand mixer, shiny and ready to go. I assembled all the components I required; flour, sugar, eggs, milk and baking powder. Everybody understands you can not bake without baking powder. I have no concept what baking powder is, except when you bake you use baking powder.
I put everything in the big bowl of my mixer. The only thing I wasn't rather sure of was the procedure, but how hard could that be anyway? Betty Crocker pointed out a cup of this and a cup of that, but never ever specified what was really meant by a cup. It didn't dawn on me until it was too late that she meant a measuring cup.
You Mean There Are Different Types Of Cups?
I went to the cupboard and took a look at all the cups. There were all kinds and sizes of cups and I did not know which one to utilize. I considered a big coffee cup and stated to myself, this will do just fine.
Rapidly I dumped 6 or 8 cups of flour into the mixing bowl, I can't remember the exact number. Then I cracked open a dozen eggs and put them into the blending bowl also. After putting a quart of milk into the mixing bowl, I whipped everything into a good batter. Of course, I forgot the baking soda.
Do I Really Need That Baking Soda?
This was to be a lemon sponge cake but I might find nothing significant lemon in the cabinet. I opened the fridge, and as luck would have it, I found a quart of lemonade. I put this concoction into the biggest cake pan I might discover. As I will put it into the oven, I kept in mind the baking powder. How is this cake going to bake if it doesn't have the baking powder?
Setting the cake pan down, I got the baking powder and liberally sprinkled it on top of my batter. I have no idea what baking powder does but I put enough on my cake so it would do an excellent job.
Into the oven the cake went, and with a flick of the wrist I turned the temperature to 450 degrees. Remembering this was a huge cake, I readjusted the temperature level to 650. The larger the cake the hotter the oven, is what I constantly state.
Now all I needed to do was await my cake to bake. As I was waiting, I heard rumblings coming from the oven however just chalked that approximately an excellent cake baking.
I think I dropped off to sleep, because the next thing I knew there was an odd odor permeating the air. It smelled a little smoky and after that it struck me. My cake, it's done.
What I took out of the oven did not look like any cake I had actually ever seen. It appeared like a charred pancake, two times the size of the cake pan, with some type of disease on the surface.
No amount of peanut butter icing in the world could camouflage this catastrophe.
It was about this time I started reassessing the idea of reading instructions. Perhaps directions have a function after all.
To live right without getting scorched you need the right directions.
My cake, it's done.
Comments
Post a Comment