Week 17: Knead This 🖕🏻
Updated: May 8
This week found me eating Wendy's and cake on Thursday, spending Friday night in Death Valley (also known as the blacktop of the elementary school) while Liv hung out with her friends at the school carnival, at batting cages Saturday morning, and hanging with grandparents for Liv's birthday on Saturday afternoon (where I am the Cribbage champ. Suck it, Old Man River--steal as many points as you want. We still won). Needless to say, this week was all about Liv. (Although, she's an only child, so that could be said about her entire life, really. Sorry future partner--I raised a diva who thinks 3 birthday celebrations is par, not excess.)
One of the things she wanted desperately for her birthday was a baking book. Like any good mother, I've introduced her to the nuances of The Great British Baking Show and the savage who is Paul Hollywood, so she fancies herself a baking connoisseur. Thanks to all of the love her family gives her, she got not just one, but two baking books. (Cookbooks? Recipe books? Books about treats? WTF are these things called?)
If you know Liv, you know that for her, the idea of doing something far outweighs her common sense or reality, which is why today, I walked out of my workout to find her "kneading" dough so wet I thought it was some sort of paint. Which brings us to the second part of this thought: if you know me, you know that baking is not something I do. The kitchen is not really something I do, what with all the ways one can burn, ruin, or maim themselves, the meal, or the home. Much easier to let Old Man River shine here, and then I'll do cleanup.
However, today, I channeled Judi Kehoe and I did not panic, scream, or break down into tears. I poured the rest of the flour onto the soup-dough, reminded Liv our goal was not to slop it on the floors, and I helped her knead the motherforking hello out of that dough. We got it shaped-ish, into the greased pan, and rising on the oven in no time...or at least under an hour. And I didn't even rage when Liv read me the directions, and I realized we had to do it all again because things that rise must be brought down only to rise again. (I write romance, clearly I'm familiar with the concept of rising and bringing it down. Although, the wait time between each rising seems a but on the light side. Two hours? Oh-kay.)
In between risings, we went to pizza and played Uno, where I was not, sadly, the winner. Then we came home, tackled more kneading and shaping, discovered that confection sugar and regular sugar are not interchangeable, did our best to roll dough that is definitely not meeting the direction's requirements of "stretchy," and crossed our fingers that is rose again. Liv's final words: "We can always take it to the counseling office and drop it in the staff room if it's not that good." Yes, we can. Or, we can throw it away, ya know, just so we don't poison someone knowingly:)
Happy week 18, gorgeous people. I've already said yes to two different engagements for next week, so I'm definitely starting my week ahead. Until then.
Addendum: The New Orleans King Cake is edible if not delicious. I asked Liv if she wanted to make the glaze frosting and she said, "I'm re-delegating my time...that's a fancy way of saying I'm quitting. " Fair enough, darling. Fair enough.