Joy the Baker

Let’s just close out eyes and pretend we’re sitting under an orange tree. An orange tree heavy with fruit… but with the occasional late blooming blossom. There are honey bees too. Just a few. The friendly kind. The kind of honeybees that remind you that life is full of creatures big and small… and we all have tasks to do.

Let’s just hang out under our orange tree for a while. Right here in the shade, greeted by little spots of sun as the wind spreads the leaves.

It’s nice here.

Sweet. Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.

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This list of things that I’ve stolen in my life is pretty small.

There was that piece of candy that I stole from Fedco when I was 7. My Dad caught me chomping on it in the back seat of the car and I got the big morality talk. Lesson: never steal anything too chewy.

There were the Girl Scout cookies I stole from my big sister’s room when she was out on a secret date. I was the natural suspect. I got a good talking to for that one. When I pulled the same cookie thievery the next week, well…. my parents made sure I learned my lesson that time.

Then there were all the times I would sneak into my Mom’s secret chocolate stashes. My Mom’s hiding places were no match for my ability to find a stool and wiggle my way around cabinets looking for sweets.

Thinking back on it, my thievery always involved something delicious that I wanted to put in my tummy. I was pathetically predictable in that sense.

I was once again tempted by the thievery gods this weekend while walking around my neighborhood. There’s citrus EVERYWHERE. Just about every other yard has a blooming orange or lemon tree just begging to be plucked. Isn’t sneaking into someones yard to yank their produce considered theft? I thought back to all of the stern reprimands and spankings I got from stealing yummies as a kid and thought better of sneaking into my neighbor’s yard.

Instead, I forked over some cash at the farmer’s market and felt just fine about making this Honey- Lime Curd.

Does this sort of concession mean my bad girl days are long gone? Sigh….

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This cake and I. Ooooh this cake and I.

We had a fight, maybe I should call it a misunderstanding.

I had expectations for this cake. I needed it to be a certain way to make me happy.  Mistakes.

I wanted this cake to be dense, but moist, perfectly golden, easy to cut and just downright irresistible. In other words, I wanted this cake to be perfect. Perfect in the ways I wanted it to be perfect. Oh Joy. It’s like I’ve learned absolutely nothing these past twenty something years.

Nothing is perfect. No, correction. Things can be perfect if imagined in your head. Real life… the real stuff is never as perfect as it is in your head. But… (oh the but). Sometimes. Most times. The imperfections are what become the most perfect part of life.

Boom. Knowledge. I just dropped it.

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My week- ridiculous.

My best, most darling friend has decided to move from Los Angeles to some strange state called…. Florida?  It’s wonderful for her.  I’m just heartbroken that I won’t have her around to watch me bake and drink wine and talk for hours and hours.

I can get over that heartbreak thanks to my immense amount of rollover cell phone minutes.  I’ll be fine…

BUT!  It seems like  I’ve been saying goodbye to my friend at goodbye parties all week long.  I’m not really a girl that goes to bars, but it seems like each night of the week I’ve been raising a glass to my friend.  It’s been fun.  It’s been almost too fun!  Each night is more ridiculous than the next.

If you haven’t been to a bar in a while, well, let me tell you, it’s madness.  In just one week I’ve… Well let’s just say that I’m going to church in the morning, and no, I didn’t get a tattoo… or did I?

Bon Voyage Sonia my love.

Enough of that, we have cookies to discuss.

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I think I’m supposed to hate cake mix.  I think, once you get a chef’s coat, you are supposed to turn you nose up at all things packaged, pre-mixed, and all around too good to be true.  Well the truth is, I don’t hate cake mix, or at least I don’t hate it as much as I should.

I could bore you with a pro and con list detailing my love hate relationship with cake mix, but I won’t.  I’ll just say this- I love cake mix because my Mom buys it for 35 cents and then passes it along to me, with that oh-so-great-I-found-a-bargain feeling.  Cake mixes are easy beyond belief, moist every time and really hard to screw up.  But the truth is, even easy to make, 35 cent cake mix isn’t really a bargain.  It’s filled with loads of oils and sugars that I can’t even pronounce.  If I can’t pronounce it, there’s a good chance my insides that don’t what to do with it either.  So, you win and you lose.  Sounds a lot like life, doesn’t it?

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