Chick Stuff

I'm baking a three-layer birthday cake for my mom today: red velvet, Devil's food and classic yellow. I've come up with the frosting design (didn't have to consult Pinterest), and it's baking now, as I write.

"Is she making these from scratch?" you might be asking. Oh, hell no.

Before Matt left for the office, he said, "Make sure it's moist. Cook it five minutes less than it calls for. Don't forget to add plenty of oil...so it's moist. And water, to make it moist."

Believe it or not, this is Matt's love language for "You're pretty creative, but a great cook you ain't."

{Digression: I finished reading The Help this week, and I've been talking like a 1960s southern, black maid all week. This is not a racist comment, as they are now heroines of mine! I'm gone have to read that book again, I liked it so well.}

My cooking has true moments of beauty, but traditionally, and I blame my English/German heritage on this, it's quite bland. And I don't follow directions. Ever.

My friend Emily writes this wonderful blog, photographing all that she cooks, and it inspires me. She's a stay-at-home mom, too, with THREE kids, and she homeschools one of them. AND she's a great cook. It's really sickening, but I love her.

Part of my problem is planning. I never go in for the kill on this. I made an Italian bake the other night, hurrying through it because I started around 5:00 p.m., and I realized that I'd forgotten to add the red wine, the KEY ingredient. When it came out of the oven, fully cooked and bland as hell, I wondered if I added the wine then, pouring a half-cup or so over cooked pasta, maybe no one would notice. A few minutes later, Matt walked in. I sprinkled a bunch of seasoned pepper on it (my best friend), and called Sam to dinner.

We sat down to eat, and I said, "I tasted it. It's OK." Matt asked, "Is it bland?" I couldn't look him in the eyes, I just nodded.

Sometimes, I like to cloak the truth in a "I made a healthier version than the recipe called for" attempt. I pretend that this works for me.

Matt and Sam are troopers. They know that deep down, cooking isn't really my thing. Just like Chick TV, Chick Lit and, basically, mindless-chick-stuff aren't my things.

Post Script:
The Devil's food looks moist; the red velvet crept out of the pan and made a mess because I think it was too hot; there's classic yellow batter all over the kitchen floor. The phone rang 5 times from the start of this blog to now. If it weren't for my editing job, and need to talk to publicity people, I'd blow up the phone. At least I do not have the E! channel on in the background...