I’m a self-proclaimed lazy cook. I don’t particularly enjoy cooking but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I might not be able to invent my own concoction but I can follow a recipe. And I don’t understand how people burn and ruin their food when they are following instructions. And yet over the past five days I’ve been baking. Not the same as cooking granted, but it tastes a whole lot better.
It started off with Butterscotch Oatmeal Bars, a delicious recipe given to me by a nice Italian lady I met during my Western New York days. I made these for a picnic date I had planned for last Thursday. They turned out well and the picnic was adorable, complete with my vintage picnic basket.
The next day I was going to go to Canada for Blues dancing at the Blues Cafe in Vancouver, B.C. But we had some time to kill, meaning five hours till we had to leave. So I proposed we make Lemon Bars. I sifted through the MidWest/Minnesota/Norwegian cookbook my grandma gave me for a recipe that looked simple and fast. These were a success, they had more of a cheesecake consistency but they were still tasty.
Today I did next to nothing. I read Paper Towns by John Green and did some dishes. My sister came over and while we were playing Harvest Moon (Super Nintendo Edition) I had the sudden urge to make something. I settled on Snickerdoodles, since I always have the ingredients in my cupboard. So now I have a pile of cookies in my kitchen that I really do not feel like eating. But there they are … maybe I’ll bring them to work this weekend.
I think I’m becoming one of those stress bakers. As graduation looms closer and closer, and as I continually find excuses to not search for jobs I keep on finding myself in the kitchen – a place I normally avoid.