Sunday, April 30, 2017
I love the ritual of baking.
I'm not a fancy baker or a frequent baker, but I like to turn the oven on, mix something in a bowl, pour into a pan, slide it in, close the door and wait. The smells fill the house. I wash the dishes, then check inside the oven. Anticipation builds, and at last consummation: delicious baked goods!
What could be better than this thoroughly satisfying sacramentum!
Now to every thing there is a problem, and with baking it is Too Much Of A Good Thing. Today I made pecan pie from a mix. It fit in an earthenware pie pan from my sister and the pure bacon fat from last week's bulk bacon cooking lubricated the dish ok. I ran the procedure mid-afternoon; the pie came out perfect and at 4 o'clock wanted only a short time of cooling.
It is now shortly after six. The pie is 2 hours old and 1/3rd gone. I am not sure where it has gone but the cats say they didn't get any.
Are those crumbs in my beard? I remember very little. My blood sugar seems funny though.
I called upon the elves in the basement to help me. They took what was left of the pie and assured me they would protect me from it, or it from me, or most likely both.
By this time next week, I will have forgotten, no doubt. What will I bake to excess then?
at 9:00 PM