Food Blogger Wannabe

Every time I bake something I think to myself, "Em. You should blog about this."

You see, I have this blog, but I don't really ever do anything with it. It kind of saddens me. (I realize that is a silly thing to sadden me, but silly things tend to sadden me no matter how much I wish they didn't. Like, it saddens me when I don't have time to sit and read through the magazines I get. See? Silly.)

Moving on! Like I said, I enjoy baking, and every time I begin the baking process I start out with the intention to blog it. It always seems simple enough at the beginning. Just bake, take pictures of the baking, and then write about it, right?
Well, I'm the worst at it. Maybe it's my lack of patience? Maybe I hate treating people like they're 4? (We all know how to mix in flour. Why are you telling me to move my spoon in circular motions until the flour is mixed in?)

Through these thoughts I've come to the conclusion that I will probably never become the next Joy the Baker. Big surprise, right? It's OK. I have other strengths. You know, like Instagramming on occasion and always having candy on my desk at the office. Maybe I should blog about that?
(Ex: Today I brought dark and milk chocolate Dove pieces to the office. Let me show you how I did it!)

I still like baking, though. So if you ever want to see pictures of food but you don't care about how those pictures were made, then follow me on Instagram (emlance).
In closing, I will leave you with pictures of the pie I made on Sunday. It was apple. It was delicious. I ate it for 4 meals straight; breakfast, lunch, dinner, and breakfast again. Can we all say "fat kid" in unison? On three. One, two, three! Fat kid! I don't even care. It was worth it.

 

(Yes, I totally baked this pie while wearing pajamas)

 

 

Thus concludes the picture and writing portion of this post.

Baking Bad

Baking Bad

Episode One:

Caramel Apple Cake

 

9:25 PM, Saturday, August 24:

Me: This cake is turning out to be a disaster. What's my deal?
My mother: I don't know. I'm sorry.

 

Two hours after that fateful text, I emphatically proclaimed to the air in my kitchen that I would never bake again and that I've been living a lie - parading around as a wannabe baker when I couldn't even frost a simple cake.

Despicable.

If this were an episode of Breaking Bad, I am certain that Gus would have shot me for producing a bad batch. Or, even worse, the Mexican cartel cousins would have been sent to keep me from producing such an atrocity ever again.

I'm sure I would have tried to offer a peace offering, and my last words would have been along of the lines of "WAIT! Would you like a piece of mediocre ca..."

It would have been too late.

I had been given my chance.

I would have been found lying in my kitchen in a pool of blood and cake batter the next morning.



 

That's probably a tad overdramatic. But just a tad.
Lets's go back to the beginning, shall we?
First, the back story:
My parents and I always eat Sunday lunch together. Since Sundays are nutsballs for us, we take that opportunity to indulge our food desires.

My mother always wakes up at 4:00 AM, or some other ungodly hour of the morning, to prep the lunch and make sure everything is set for an easy post-church, oven-to-table set up.
This always includes dessert.
Not a Sunday goes by when that woman does not have a delicious dessert prepared for us.

So, when I began this lovely little blog challenge for myself, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to relieve my mother of one task on her Sunday morning schedule. I happily texted my mother to make sure she approved of this idea. She responded with "That would be great!" and I quickly began the planning.

I've been craving fall lately. My thoughts have been consumed with tights, sweaters, football, and party planning. Granted, party planning is always on my mind, but it definitely is hightened during the fall months.
Because of this, I thought it only fitting that I make the Caramel Apple Cake that is from the same Baked cookbook I used for the Cowboy Cookies.

Oh, goodness. Apples! Caramel! Cake! It's a trifecta of deliciousness.

I made the cake, and it was wonderful. Three 8 inch cake pans came out of the oven and patiently waited to be flipped over and frosted. One of the layers stuck ever so slightly to the bottom of the pan, but I wasn't deterred. This was going to be amazing.
I could feel it.
I had a wedding that night at work, so I packed the cakes away and returned home later to make the frosting and finish the process.

Somewhere between work and my house I lost my mind, because when I came back, everything I did was the worst.
I dropped 3 cups of flour all over the floor.
I almost added baking soda instead of baking powder.
I dropped the trashbag as I was pouring the failed batch of frosting into it, so as if to mock me, the failed frosting ended up on the floor, my legs, the bottom of the trash can.
Basically, the frosting was everywhere except in the trash bag, which was the one place I wanted it to be.

I apparently also became illiterate, because I couldn't follow the most basic of instructions.
Sugar? They must mean powdered sugar.
Cook? They must mean don't cook.
Like I said, I lost my mind.

The next morning, I tossed the pathetic attempt at a cake in a carrying device and headed out the door.
I warned my parents of the how awful it would be. Just imagine the scene from Anne of Green Gables where Anne shouts "Don't eat it, Miss Stacy!" Except I shouted "Drown it in ice cream and make sure a strong pot of coffee is on standby!"

All in all, the actual cake was delicious. It was just that stupid frosting. I'm sorry I did wrong by you, Apple Caramel Cake. It wasn't your fault.

I hope you all haven't lost faith in me. I promise to make it up to you somehow.