many most of my readers know, I am not a cook. I’m, like, the anti-cook, and at some point I’ll write up a whole separate post on why that is, but for now let it suffice to say that while I don’t cook, I do know how to bake. The directions must be followed precisely – I can do that – and the reward is great, so it’s something I tackled at an early age.
So this weekend James and I found ourselves with a houseful of preteens, two of whom really wanted to bake cupcakes.
Since there are both males and females in this household, I went out and bought the girliest ingredients and decorations that I could find. BECAUSE I’M IN CHARGE OF THE SHOPPING.
(Hint: if you want to decorate your cupcakes in Manchester United colors, or those of the Boston Bruins, or even the Dallas Cowboys, then YOU do the shopping. But I took two preteen girls with me, and we chose pink. La-di-dah.)
Anyhoo. Our family tradition is to gather in the kitchen, turn up the tunes, and have a decorating contest where we fight to win 1) the prettiest, 2) the most original and even 3) the ugliest baked good. Mind, this last one is usually won by default. Nobody’s actually trying for it.
As reference, last Christmas I got creamed by one of my Steppies, and walked away with no awards. This time I scored prettiest AND most original – yes, I am bragging here – and let the record show that James got a big ol’ ZERO – that’s what you get when you try for aliens on your baked good, I guess. So here are the collective results:
Can we all agree that Buddy of Cake Boss fame should totally watch his back? As for my winning-est entry, those who’ve been following my yard drama on Facebook won’t be surprised. I have bunnies on the brain: Seriously, off to hit a deadline now. Smell you Peeps latah.