For those of you who don't know, domestic-ness isn't exactly my forte. This has always perplexed me given my breeding. My mother and grandmother are champion breeders- thoroughbred racehorses when it comes to cooking. Thus given my pedigree, my abilities in the kitchen should come naturally; as if I were born to cook.
But, it doesn't. I'm like a gelding--a castrated horse whos equal is a donkey; subpar and stinky. And although in the back of my mind I have readily accepted my destiny of "sucky cooker", it doesn't make me continue to try and change the stars.
Once again, I tried to change my stars this morning. And I failed. Boy, did I fail.
My morning began promptly at 6:10 a.m. Breakfast needed to be out hot on the table for my husband and step-kids no later than 7:00 a.m. I woke up with my head full of dreams. Big dreas; dreams of a morning that did not consist of pop-tarts and Captain Crunch Cereal. Dreams of applause and joyful song echoing the walls of the breakfast nook signing, "For she's a jolly good fellow. For she's a jolly good fellow...."
Today would be the day! I was going to make home-made donuts. And no, this was no "boxed" donuts that had all the ingredients nicely packaged and the directions on the outside of the container. For the first time since I married Mark, I used the flour. YES, I USED FLOUR! You know, that white powdery substance that taste like shit by itself but magically turns into something wonderful and full of carbohydrates when you mix it with other...stuff? I knew I was big time the moment I opened the flour container.
So I spend 45 minutes while my family still slept, covered in flour creating the World's first home-made donuts. I made powdered, chocolate and glazed. They sat beautifully and wonderfully on display on the tray beside me. Vigorously, I made more and more knowing that these donuts would be a huge hit. I invisioned my step-son begging me for more. He would fail his spelling test without a dozen of my home-made donuts. My step-daughter would get acne from the stress of not having enough of them to eat. It wasn't only my mission to make the donuts; it way my mission to make enough of them to feed the world!
7:00 a.m. arrived and my tray filled with marvelous donuts lie of the table like a ceremony shrine. My husband ooo'd and ahhh'd over their beauty and the kids giggled with delight. I was about to make that breakfast my bitch. I had dominated breakfast!
I took th liberty of taking my first bite about 5 seconds before anyone else did. The initial taste of pwodered sugar coated my tongue with its fine particles of sweetness. A faint smile draped my face. Slowly chewing, I closed my eyes to savor the tast of.....soap? Is that...soap? Does it take like SOAP? What the *$@%!?!! My beautiful donuts taste like a fart soaked in dishwashing detergent!
Quickly, I open my eyes. It's too late. My family's pupils dialate as they proceed to spit the donuts out of their mouths and onto their plates. I didn't understand it. I grab a chocolate covered donut from the pate and take a big bite. Burnt SOAP. Regurgitation almost occurred. Chocolate donut remains are hurrled into my napkin.
Turns out, baking powder and baking soda are NOT the same. If you use baking soda and do not counter it with the acidity of another ingredient, you're food will tast like freaking soap. And, it probably doesn't help when you use baking soda that was a wedding present from Buckethead's FIRST wedding fifteen years ago. Yes, it was circa 1994 when I was chilling in my Girbaud multi-colored shorts watching Boy Meets World.
So needless to say, we ate pop-tarts.