Thursday, August 07, 2008
Ah, the big Baking Day. Time to shine, right? Fuck that.
Naturally, everything went wrong. Oh sure, the marvelous carrot cake turned out fabulous, but not before I threw major attitude at Jim and Ben, the cook, who didn't seem to understand why I couldn't just take my cakes out of the oven and bake them later. And it went like that all day with every other thing I did. I had to wait for the mixer. I had to wait for the oven. I had to wait for the Robocoup (that's a food processor, BTW). They asked me to drop everything and go help them load the van with some catering stuff, and when I got back, some dillhole had used the Robocoup to make salsa--and spilled diced tomatoes and juice all over everything, including inside the flour bin. Didn't bother to clean a damned bit of it up.
Naturally, the cookies I made are ruined. The ambient temperature in the kitchen was, according to thermometer I carry in my shoulder pocket, 86°. It is impossible to work with butter-based doughs at that temperature. It would just fall through my fingers. Then I'd chill it, and it'd be too cold and break and then warm back up and melt in my hands before I could get anything done. I wanted to just throw everything away and go home. I made a chocolate cake from a mix, just something simple to accompany everything else. It fell apart while I was icing it.
Just fucking shoot me.
Oh, and remember how Jim and Patty pushed the idea that Rae is SOOOO great at purchasing, and I have had SO MANY problems, I can really learn a thing or two from her? So far this week, we've run out of cake mix, jalepenos, green peppers, gloves, and cookies. Yeah, she's really got it goin' awn.
One more thing to add:
Sometime Tuesday night, someone stole DS's bike. They also stole several of the neighbor kids' bikes (for some reason, DD's was left). DS and his buddy have annointed themselves in charge of the situation. He puts on his puffy vest and a pair of toy handcuffs, along with a self-made badge reading "SAFETY PATROL", and he and his buddy stroll around the neighborhood on the lookout for danger.
Naturally, everything went wrong. Oh sure, the marvelous carrot cake turned out fabulous, but not before I threw major attitude at Jim and Ben, the cook, who didn't seem to understand why I couldn't just take my cakes out of the oven and bake them later. And it went like that all day with every other thing I did. I had to wait for the mixer. I had to wait for the oven. I had to wait for the Robocoup (that's a food processor, BTW). They asked me to drop everything and go help them load the van with some catering stuff, and when I got back, some dillhole had used the Robocoup to make salsa--and spilled diced tomatoes and juice all over everything, including inside the flour bin. Didn't bother to clean a damned bit of it up.
Naturally, the cookies I made are ruined. The ambient temperature in the kitchen was, according to thermometer I carry in my shoulder pocket, 86°. It is impossible to work with butter-based doughs at that temperature. It would just fall through my fingers. Then I'd chill it, and it'd be too cold and break and then warm back up and melt in my hands before I could get anything done. I wanted to just throw everything away and go home. I made a chocolate cake from a mix, just something simple to accompany everything else. It fell apart while I was icing it.
Just fucking shoot me.
Oh, and remember how Jim and Patty pushed the idea that Rae is SOOOO great at purchasing, and I have had SO MANY problems, I can really learn a thing or two from her? So far this week, we've run out of cake mix, jalepenos, green peppers, gloves, and cookies. Yeah, she's really got it goin' awn.
One more thing to add:
Sometime Tuesday night, someone stole DS's bike. They also stole several of the neighbor kids' bikes (for some reason, DD's was left). DS and his buddy have annointed themselves in charge of the situation. He puts on his puffy vest and a pair of toy handcuffs, along with a self-made badge reading "SAFETY PATROL", and he and his buddy stroll around the neighborhood on the lookout for danger.
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