So, somehow, I decided baking was a good plan the other day.
You see, baking and I don't mix well.
BUT this time was about 50/50. I'll take it.
Anyway, I wanted to make buns, double chocolate cookies and banana bread. (Banana bread didn't make the cut because the bananas are still blackening in the freezer, so I made box cupcakes instead.)
Now you would think that, as a pattern writer, I'd be able to follow instructions.
This is apparently not the case.
I must have a need for designer cookies or some shit because I always end up doing it wrong.
I DID get the buns right. Ish.
Slightly overcooked, but a success nonetheless.
Eff yeah. My first buns.
Let's bake the next thing.
Everything was going smoothly until one ingredient:
How the fuck did we not have any brown sugar?
So I thought, because I'm just sooooo fucking clever, why not use the molasses I bought in the 3rd trip go the grocery store (and was not going to go back) that day to MAKE some brown sugar.
Without even looking up ratios, it's not like I have a computer at my fingertips or anything, in goes a cup of white sugar.
and a cup of molasses.
Voila! BROWN SUGAR. (Not)
Looking back I wish I took a photo of the cookies in their final form. They spread so much that, baking the second batch, I just gave up and globbed it all on the pan. So I had some cookies, and a blob (that was later cut into bars). I'm not even sure if the blob was thoroughly baked, to be frank...
My 3 year old liked the cookie I gave her so I checked that as a success.
Fast forward a few days later, when Adam said that he had a cookie and it wasn't bad. I was beaming. Eff yeah! I baked stuff!
Then he had another one.. but he could taste all of the molasses and almost threw up.
AND TO MAKE THINGS WORSE:While I was cooking supper, THAT SAME DAY, I found, not one, but 2 bags of brown sugar. Just nowhere near where it belongs.
Cue rage tears.
#nothousewifematerial #aintnowifey #badinthekitchen
Little prairie spitfire, hoping to bring you some positivity and feist.