I spent the weekend baking.
Yes I’m domestic shut up.
I spent the weekend before baking, too. I still haven’t baked a loaf of bread as I said I was going to; there have been obstacles in obtaining ingredients so I can do so at my house. Theoretically I could bake the bread at my fiancé’s house, as I’ve been doing with my other baking projects the past two weekends, but I don’t want to. I want to bake the bread in my own house. Especially if it’s a massive failure the first time. (His smoke alarm goes off if you burn toast.)
Anyway. I’ve been on a baking kick recently, and I’ve been doing it at his house so I can use his mom’s mixer. (I’m currently looking everywhere for my KitchenAid, which is part of my inheritance from Oma. I think it went into storage when she died because I didn’t have room for it where I was living, and…well, we have a lot of storage areas. And they’re all full of stuff. So searching is taking a while.) I’m not sure why I’m on a baking kick. I haven’t baked in…well, ages. And I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be going on such a baking kick again until I felt I had a kitchen I could do it in — which, no, I don’t have that feeling about either my kitchen or his.
I guess my baking genes were antsy enough to ignore the wrong feels the kitchens gave me and just push me to do it because damn, it feels good to bake again.
So my latest project was bran muffins. Bran muffins are not only my favourite type of muffin (right beside chocolate + chocolate + chocolate + MOAR CHOCOLATE), but Nate’s favourite, too. I did it from a package. Because I’m not that domestic, that’s why.
Usually I add things to package mixes to give the finished product my own special flourish. This leads to people going on thousand-mile quests, fighting dragons and cyclops and other assorted creatures that normally get a pretty bad rap in fantasy and/or mythology, ascending glass-walled towers, and answering fearsome riddles, all to get a hold of my baked goods. My baked goods do indeed bring all the people, gender-inclusive, to the yard
and they’re like “it’s better than squirrels”. This time, I didn’t add such flourishes, mainly because Nate is a stodgy old curmudgeon who freaks out at anything new just wanted plain old bran muffins.
The muffins turned out totally delicious anyway, so I mark the project a success. I took home some of them, because there’s no way he’s going to eat 24 regular size muffins + 8 mini-muffins by himself. The rest, however, I left for him as a token of my love. True love is muffins.
Or capturing your lover’s nemesis for them so they can deal with said nemesis in their favoured fashion and then sharing a bottle of the finely aged blood of your enemies. Muffins are a bit easier to accomplish, though, and I am lazy.
Also, now I have breakfast solved for the rest of the week. Win-win.