Joy the Baker

There are things I allow myself to buy… things like new jeans, the occasional pair of fancypants shoes, milk, butter, frozen yogurt and a bottle of chocolate syrup.  Ok… to be honest, I allow myself to buy a lot of things.

There are things that I do not, under any circumstances, allow myself to buy:  Oreos.  Double Stuff Oreos.  Yes, it may sound silly, but I am not allowed to buy Oreos.  It’s  a rule.  In my brain.  That makes it real.

Why the silly strict Oreo rule?  About ten years back, when I was the all-knowing eighteen year old that brazenly moved out of my parents’ house and across the country, I realized that I had to find a way to feed myself.  Not a problem.  Just go to the grocery store, right?  Suuure.  I took myself to the grocery store and bought every single bit of junk food that my parents’ had (wisely) withheld from me for eighteen years.  Chesee puffs, orange soda, fruit roll-ups and Oreos… sooo many Oreos.  It turns out, a girl can live on Oreos alone…. for about a week… and then comes an epic Oreo hangover that is not to be forgotten.  

So.  Fine.  No more Oreos.  

No more store bought Oreos.  Homemade Oreos with a touch of peppermint?  That’s ok, right?  Totally ok!  Are you in?  Heeeeck yes!  It’s December.  Let’s milk this chocolate and peppermint thing while we have the chance. 

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In my kitchen this past week I’ve managed to burn my Thanksgiving brussels sprouts, make a bum batch of chocolate brownies, crack my favorite coffee mug and somehow spill a half bottle of red wine under…UNDER my refrigerator.  Additionally, since my kitchen seems to be a vortex of ill fate, I’ve refused to do the dishes.  It wasn’t a pretty sight, friends.  I was just about due for an intervention.  

I was just about ready to throw a stick of dynamite into my kitchen and hope for the best.  Instead I opted for one last shot… mostly because sticks of dynamite like the ones they have in cartoons are hard to find… maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places… whatever the case,  I preheated the oven, kept my head down, and… success!  Sweet, dense, chocolate and peanut butter success.  

This dark kitchen cloud seems to have passed, and I’ve managed to get all of my dishes in the dishwasher…. things are looking up and tasting pretty darn good too. 

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I’m putting on an orange leotard tomorrow.  An orange leotard. 

I’m also putting on bright blue leggings tomorrow.. and white leg warmers… and sweat bands.  

I’m going to encourage the big, puffy, curly hair that I spend most days trying to tame.  Yes, there will be blue eye shadow.

I’m going to step out in the world tomorrow as an 80’s aerobics instructor.  The only little hitch?  That I actually have to step out of the house in a skin tight orange leotard and skin tight blue leggings.  Oooh lordy.  Whose idea was it to take the Halloween celebration beyond my solo living room dance parties?  Yeeps!  

Ironically, the only thing making me feel better about my very bright and very tight 80’s debut are these S’mores Icebox Candy Bars.  There are fifteen in a batch and I’ve worked through four just writing this post.  Send help.  Orange leotard, people…. send help. 

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Ooooh God.  This is embarrassing.  This is about to happen.  

Here’s a small excerpt from Joy’s (before she was the Baker) diary circa late 1996.  I had strong feelings about a lot of things back then… my first crush named Hayden, my best friend turned enemy, the television show Seinfeld, making the volleyball team and…. MTV’s The Real World.  Yea… I’m not so sure about that last one either.  I dunno.  Here’s an actual excerpt:  

Um.  Diary.  Seriously.  (P.S.) Real World Miami sucked just to let you know.

Reasons to be on Real World…

1) I’m athletic… DUH

2) I’m funny… so how bout them Dodgers… who’s on first… knock knock.  

3) I’m diverse.  I’m a black girl (woman).  

4) Kissing.  But not on camera. 

5) I’m from Los Angeles… with bright lights and clear skies.  

6) I’m a country music lover… Come on baby let’s go to Vegas.  

*HELL-OOO

My heavens! I laughed out loud when I found this little gem in my teenage diary. Ooooh but believe me… that little book is full of all sorts of priceless wallowing and poetry so terrible… so foul… that I can barely even stand to revisit it. This little list though…. hot dang… so funny.  I think I love reason number three the most.  Why did I feel the need to put the ‘woman’ in parentheses?  My heavens.  What a weirdo. 

I just had to get that off my chest… now, cake. 

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I faked it.  

I faked it just a little bit with these croissants.  

See, these croissants were hot from the oven and onto my breakfast plate in less than 30 minutes because I used frozen, all-butter puff pastry instead of slaving over homemade croissant dough.  Real croissant dough has yeast, a bit of sugar and milk in it.  Puff pastry does not have these elements; it’s just flour, salt, water, and more butter than you care to know.  

So you see… I didn’t spend the time folding and folding and folding croissant dough, I faked it.  I don’t feel one bit of bad.  In fact, I feel so good about faking it, here’s a few other things I’ve been known to fake.

I’ve faked a tan with that new and clever gradual tan lotion.  Thank you lotion technology.

I’ve faked a smile… when I’m feeling super extra awkward, or when I don’t like your perfume but you’re a friend of the family and I don’t want to be rude, or when I’m being paid to smile.  That last one doesn’t really happen… ever.

I’ve been faking being an adult for the last ten years.  Sometimes, well… it sure feels like I’m faking it.  

Lastly, as discussed above… I fake a dang good chocolate croissant.  Here’s what’s what on that!

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God sure does have a clever sense of humor, wouldn’t you say!?

Yes.

Here’s how I know:  I’m dating a faaaaantastic man who… doesn’t know the difference between a pie and a cake… a muffin and a cupcake.

Funny, right?  This has to be a joke… right?

Nope.

Ok.  To be fair.  It’s not that he doesn’t know the difference… it’s just that he mixes them all up all the time.  Maybe it makes me a little crazy.  Maybe it goes a little something like this:

Me:  Simon,  what do you want for your birthday?

Simon:  A giant pie!

Me:  A pie?  You mean you don’t want a big ol’ chocolate cake?

Simon:  Oh!  Wait!  No…. I want a cake.  Wait… cakes are the big, multi-layered things with all the frosting.  Yes.  I want that.

Me:  Cake.  Not pie.  Cake.  Ok.

OR!

Me:  Hey Simon!  What do you want for breakfast?

Simon:  Cupcakes!

Me:  You mean muffins, right?

Simon:  Ooh yea.  Muffins.  Yeaaaaah.  They have the same shape!  It’s confusing.

Me:  I know.

Ok… maybe these two conversations are a bit of an exaggeration.  But seriously friends… they’re not that much of an exaggeration.  This happens to me, and I don’t see an end in sight.  Very funny God.  Luckily I have a very keen sense of humor too.  Ha.

Perhaps making up for his mix-ups, Simon is one hell of a cupcake decorator.  Seriously.

Now, I’d like to introduce you to my absolute favorite Red Velvet Cupcake recipe with Cinnamon Cream Cheese Frosting.  Wait… muffins.  No, cupcakes.  No… definitely cupcakes.  I know this.

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Dear My Bank,

We’ve known each other for a long time.  You know how I deposit my humble paychecks every so often, how I rarely use the ATM, and how I hate to use my debit card at the gas station.  I know that you like to decorate with bullet-proof glass… guns, I get it… have pens that don’t always work, and always want me to sign up for your credit card.  As much as I hate to admit it, we sort of have a thing going.

Let’s be honest Bank.  We’re not friends.  We don’t even really like each other very much.  I know that you have rules.  You know… if you’re being honest with yourself, that I do my very best to follow your rules.  And I do… Bank…..! Unless, I suppose, I just forget to add one payment to my balance books, leading me to believe I have several hundred dollars in you, Bank… instead of less than zero.

Here’s my beef with you… Bank!  Jerky bank.  When you penalize me several times in a row for spending money that I thought I had, well… that doesn’t get me any closer to having the money that you’d like to take.  How on Earth did you determine that $33 was an acceptable overdraft charge?  Why are you allowed to take money that I don’t have?  You know what I think?  I think you’re taking advantage of my mistake.  You know me, Bank.  You know that I don’t like to spend money I don’t have… and when I do… accidentally… you use that as an opportunity to take advantage of me.

That’s reeeeeaal crappy.

Nobody likes you.  I’ve done the research.  It’s true.

Nobody will ever… not even once… make you cookies just because you’re nice.  Why?  Because you’re not nice.

Now you know.

Love,

Joy

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Ok… first of all, stop looking at me like that.

Yea, I can see that crazy look of your face.  But it’s me.  The same person that brought you amazing Cream Cheese Cinnamon Rolls and Perfect Lemon Pound Cake. We trust each other.  We have an understanding.  Just go with me on this.

Something about hot summer weather gets me to thinking (or melts my brain) and brings some strange recipes to the surface.  Remember last year’s Blueberry Ice Cream with Homemade Hot Fudge?  Yea… I got a few strange looks for that too.

Because I still see those raised eyebrows on your face, let me tell you a little about this beast of a cake.  Believe me, I was super skeptical too.

The vegan chocolate cake is dense and moist, and everything you might want from a chocolate cake minus the eggs and butter.  The fat in the cake is almond oil (or anything you have on hand) and one whole mashed avocado.  It’s lovely, and I didn’t taste a lick of avocado in the cake.

The avocado buttercream is a dash more strange.  Yes, it’s bright green.  Yes, the only fat in the buttercream is avocado meat.  It’s sweet with slight hints of citrus.  I had my doubts, but when combined with the chocolate cake… holy wow!  It actually worked!  It was honest-to-goodness delicious!  Not to mention vegan and full of healthy fats!

Your thoughts?  Have I scared you off?

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Dear Girl (that sat next to me on the plane last night),

Hi.  How are you?  This is just a quick note to let you know that you sat on my glasses.  I know that you know that you sat on my glasses.  You did, after all,  hand them back to me crazy mangled.  I trust that you know what shape glasses generally assume.

I understand that there are two active parties in this tragedy.  There’s the person that accidentally left her glasses in the middle seat next to her while she properly stowed her purse under the seat in from of her…. that’s me.  There’s also the person that was in such a hurry to get into that second row middle seat, that didn’t let the girl with the glasses on the aisle properly acclimate before barging in… that’s you.  So, you sat on my glasses.

My favorite part about you sitting on my glasses, was how you showed exactly zero remorse for the damage you caused.  That was awesome.  Hey… remember that part when I was very obviously trying to bend them back in shape in front of you?  Yea… that was pretty fun too.  That was me being passive aggressive.  I bet that was your favorite part.

Oh well, they’re just glasses, right?  Next time, I’ll watch where I put my glasses if you watch where you put your body.  Deal?

Sincerely,

Joy

And now… dark chocolate cookies.  Let’s do this.

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Everyone has their own way of enjoying toasted marshmallows.  It’s very much a personal thing… this I understand.

I like my roasted, toasted marshmallows extra crispy… extra well done.  I want that sucker on  the end of the misshapen close hanger, stuck right into the depths of the fire.  I want it to come out flaming.  That’s right, I’m a marshmallow torch girl.

Apparantely, the marshmallow torch is not how you make friends at all-girl sleep away camp.  I would always get groans of disapproval from the girls that were trying to keep their precious marshmallows just far enough away from the orange coals to perfectly toast them.  Maybe they were less than thrilled with my marshmallow torch because I usually managed to set at least one of their darling marshmallows on fire just out of sheer proximity.  I considered it a favor.  Them..?  Not so much.

But these brownies aren’t really about my summer camp misadventures, are they?  These S’mores Brownies are more about fudgy, dense chocolate that bakes up with graham cracker bits and toasted marshmallows.  Toasted, not torched.

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