I never understood baking, that something we eat could be that precise, right down to an eighth of a teaspoon. I don’t like opening the thick bag of flour, having to do so over the sink or a garbage can, for fear of it showering my floors and counter tops, never mind my black clothes.Then leveling it, just so, with a straight edge, only to then have to sift the stuff. I tried once to store my flour in airtight containers, use one of those fancy flour shovels, usually reserved for bins of ice. Bugs. Flying bugs. Hatched. Now I keep the flour in the fridge. Baking is just too calculated. You have to worry about measurements and the calibration of your oven. Your altitude. If baking were a woman, she’d have an irregular period, wear a sweatband, and be the first to tap her foot and remind you "it’s been thirty minutes on the elliptical. Time to let others go, like the sign says." Uptight and moody.
And yet, I buy silicone liners for my baking sheets. I walk the aisles of Target and simply cannot resist. Sprinkles. Pink sugar. I think of half-baked butter cookies, the edges glittering in fine sanding sugar. And I add it all to the cart. Now I have an obligation to make Valentine’s Day cookies. So I buy the cookie cutters, in XO shapes, lips, and hearts. I imagine each one different, on a white serving plate, there for the taking. I wonder when I’ll be up to the challenge. In the meanwhile, I do love just looking at the sprinkles… and Martha Stewart photos (like above). Or how about making cookies with wafer paper and any stamps you have at home, like these beauties:
And who ever said no to red velvet cupcakes? Or vintage wallpaper printed cookies? Thank you fancy flours for the instructions. Now, if only I can find the time.