We’ve been baking Christmas cookies over the last week or so, and my husband didn’t yet get the cookies he requested…Candy Cane Cookies. So he and my daughter, actually more him THAN my daughter, have decided that today is the day to make them.
Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a great cook. He and my son cook dinner every so often. But baker? Not so much. He attacks a recipe with the same gusto he uses on his favorite RPG. He moves quickly through the kitchen, measuring and stirring without giving any concern to what destruction he leaves in his wake (usually my kitchen is the worst victim).
Over the years he and my daughter have made things like piñata cookies that they saw on Pinterest (big mistake) and mini bundt cake pumpkins (where does one find a mini pumpkin-shaped bundt pan anyways?).
The pinata cookies were supposed to be colorful, donkey-shaped cookies (they had to improvise as they couldn’t find a donkey-shaped cookie cutter) filled with mini M&M’s. Their version should have been posted on “Pinterest Fail.” But they had fun, in spite of the yelling, and crying – both from my husband. And though they will probably NEVER make the piñata cookies again, I’m keeping the recipe in the recipe collection, so they never forget about the memory.
While I’ve run from the kitchen, so as not to see the mess that’s ensuing, from my vantage point I can still hear things like “die candy canes, die!” (they’re crushing them to roll the cookies in), and “where did you hide the salt?” (I have an entire shelf in the pantry dedicated to baking items), along with “you may have to re-wash the clean dishes (in the dish drainer) when we’re done!”
I am frightened to go in there right now.
The bottom line is it isn’t about the cookies, or the mess, or how the cookies turn out. It’s about the memories they’re making that my kids will hopefully share with their kids one day. It’s the tradition and laughter that will stick with them for years to come. It’s about the stories they’ll tell one another, exaggerating the details to their own children, of course.
So I’ll wait until they’re done, then go in and clean up the mess. I’ve learned where I can serve the best at a time like this.
Although, I just checked on my husband and daughter’s first batch and, let’s just say they don’t look like the picture. Seems they forgot that the dough needs to chill for a few hours before they can assemble the cookies. Details, details. So it could be about how the cookies turned out after all.
What’s your best or worst baking memory? And please, feel free to exaggerate.