I don’t bake

I really don’t. Betty Crocker I am not. I don’t do cookies. I’m a complete failure with pastries. I cooked one chocolate cake from scratch ever and since then everyone has had store-bought cakes (albeit, really good ones like the lovely caramel pecan ones from the lovely little bakery in East City) or …well…Betty Crocker boxed things for their birthdays. I do not bake. Yet yesterday I found myself pilfering all of the filberts, almonds, dried cranberries and cardamom pods I could from the closest bulk food store. Why? Because the holidays are coming up and nothing gets me in the holiday spirit (because the onslaught of Christmas tunes certainly doesn’t do it…no no, I go out safely armed with my iPod and some Aimee Mann) more than the scents imbued through cookies and cakes emanating from my oven…and then giving all of those goodies away to people who obviously need to pack on a few pounds.

I daresay my next few posts will be an inundation of baked goods. But it won’t happen again. Because I don’t bake.


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