When your first stop picking up ingredients for baking is the liquor store, you know it’s going to be a good week. And when the recipe calls for a pound of butter (that’s an entire 4 stick box), you know it’s going to be that much better.
Procrastibaking: the act of baking 4 batches of cookies rather than opening your notes to study for final exams. (Thanks, Pete, for the new word.) That is what I engaged in this weekend.
It turned into Fall yesterday. No warning, no gradual changes, no typical New England back-and-forth. Friday it was hot and sunny shorts-and-a-tank-top weather. Yesterday it was cool and crisp flannel-and-jeans weather.
Cakes seem like they have it pretty good. Always out on display in bakery windows, drawing people in. Frequently the centerpiece at special occasions. Oohed and ahhed over when they’re particularly well designed. But I’d argue that they actually get the short end of the stick when it comes to baked goods.
Friday night was a baking marathon. After a week of birthdays and J-term festivities, I really needed a night where I didn’t have to leave my apartment. Lucky for me, I have friends that felt the same, and were willing to trek to my apartment for a quieter night in.
As much as I love baking, the real cooking accomplishment today was learning how to poach an egg. Since England last summer, where every breakfast seemed to include a poached egg and avocado, I’ve been meaning to learn. Then, when I was in Utah a couple weekends ago, my friend Jeremy made us poached eggs every morning. I was inspired, and finally took the time to learn this morning.
Christmas with the Muncey’s was a marathon this year. I got home from skiing in Utah on Tuesday, and then had a party every day through yesterday. That’s four separate Christmas parties. A night-before-the-night-before party, a Christmas eve party, Christmas, and Pickett Christmas. Like I said, a marathon.
This post starts with a new Saturday morning tradition. Last week was the first time we tried this, but since its been two weeks in a row, I’m calling it a tradition. I start a run from my parents’ new house and my mom starts to walk. I go out around to the beach and back, and it times out perfectly (like, arriving-at-the-door-at-the-exact-same-time perfectly) that we meet at the bakery we always used to go to from their old house.
It’s sunny! And warm! And not snowy! All of these things are beyond exciting after the winter we had, and even hold true up in Massachusetts, where I just spent a wonderful week at home. I made the most of my time with my bake center, and squeezed in another little project last night while watching the Bruins thoroughly confirm that they had no place in the playoffs this year.
After being sick at the end of last week (which is actually the worst thing as a teacher – it makes you realize just how much energy you need on a daily basis), I made it up to Massachusetts for the weekend just in time to experience one of those blizzards I’d been hearing so much about. Down in New Jersey, this winter has been very much a story of “There’s a huge blizzard coming our way, everybody panic! Oh wait, it missed us, but it did hit Boston.” Up here, it’s a very different story.