This week I've probably popped enough goodies in the oven to make Octomom drop her jaw. I must have cleared the local market of flour, inappropriately labeled butter (they call it cu-unt here), course sugar, and delightfully sweet smelling "vanilla extract". Romania had no idea that Betty Crocker's asian counterpart would be invading this month. (Puhlease, she's got nothin' on me)
It's rather hilarious to me, that, although most would consider baking to be an exact science, being on the Race forces one to improvise. A cup is a dusty mug with a giant crack down the side, tablespoons are just spoons, and baking trays are old metal lids to mismatched or jettisoned pots. Substitutions for ingredients are used so often that it's a wonder you even need to follow the old recipe. Generally, the oven that you have to work with doesn't have exact temperature settings. You have "little flame," "medium flame," and "very big flame." I have translated these pictogram oven-hieroglyphics to mean, "wait forever for your cake to bake," "don't worry, you can step out of the room to take a nap," and "holy crap, that's hot, you're going to be eating ashes for dessert."
It's not a secret that I love baking. With that being said, it's probably not surprising to ye who knoweth me that I would find a way to bake on the Race — be it campfire or dusty stove with questionably attached oven. I take baking very seriously. In fact, I don't even like to call it baking, because that associates it with paisley-apron-wearing, hobbyist, PTA mother, invite-the-neighborhood-kids sort of baking. . . au contraire, it's such an art! Wendy, my teammate, put it in pretty accurate words. . .
"Honestly Tiffany, anyone can bake — but not everyone bakes with a stampeding aftermath of recipe demands and bloodshed for the last crumb."
Okay, so that might not have been verbatim, but my embellishments only enhanced her main point. If I make something that is sub-excellence, it might as well have NEVER BEEN MADE. Still, I love trying new things. I love how Dad has provided me with opportunities to use something that I love so much to bless others and bring them joy. Baking here has almost become my own ministry. . . which speaks directly to my heart. . . and my wallet. So without further ado, may you feast upon these photographs…
CELEBRATING MARDI GRAS!
(Frankly, just a reason for me to bake my first King Cake. We didn't do much else, and no one even knew it was Mardi Gras until I explained why I was making a giant cinnamon roll for no reason.)
Jamie found some cool colorful lollipops and we used colored skittles as a substitute for sprinkles
Christin won the hidden plastic Mickey.
Yellow & googlie-eyed.
For Raul and his team's send-off, we prepared a dessert buffet & performance for them.
These chocolate chip cookies turned out pathetically…
But I think redemption was found in my cheesecake, which was the first to go!
This is my endorsement photograph.
Peter & his creations
lemon bars
Carrot loaves, cookies, chocolate honey and orange tart, and cheesecake
We taught them the cupid shuffle.
Our performance to Numa Numa (did you know that was Romanian?)
I was invited over to Raul's a couple of days later to teach Ana, his wife, how to make the cheesecake.
Sam and Ionathan helped out with the graham cracker crushing. 🙂
Here it is!
He also helped clear out the leftover chocolate ganache.
Sugar Cookie Decorating
for our last after-school session with the kids, I decided to make food educational 🙂
Of course, after all that sugar, they were psychotically hyper. . .
* sigh *
