Half-Baked

I suck at baking. Following directions to the letter or not, my baked goods result in either dried out, overbaked throwaways or mushy-in-the-middle, too undercooked for even raw dough fans, disposal-worthy messes. I am not sure why this is, but it is much to the dismay of David who loves a good cookie more than almost anyone.

Two years ago I tried to bake Madeleine's birthday cake. It's a good thing Costco is so close by because what we ended up with was a pan of hard, sunken, wrinkled batter, reminiscent of a really old man's butt (not that I've seen too many of those, but I can imagine.) When I tasted the Old Man's Butt Cake to see if it was salvageable in any way at all, the flavor of salt was so overpowering, I spit it in the sink and promptly sent the whole thing to a dry cask storage facility, lest it leach into the soil and I find Erin Brockovich at my front door.

Anyway, I have taken to buying already-made bakery. This habit either puts me on par with today's modern woman or today's pathetic woman, one who can't successfully mix some sugar, flour and butter together in any way that makes sense.

But here's the good news: I can sure microwave up a good batch of those little frozen desserts that cost 100 times more money and contain 1,000 times more high-fructose corn syrup than those grandma-style yum-yums we all pine for.

So, if you happen to be in the neighborhood with a cake, a dozen or so cookies, or a batch of freshly baked cinnamon rolls (glazed, please), please do not hesitate to stop by. My sorely lacking-in-quality-sugar family will thank you.