SILVER LININGS by Terri Andersen
A Betty Crocker award I may never get, but if they start handing out awards for unorthodox methods in the kitchen, I just might be nominated. It seems every recipe I decide to use has at least one ingredient in it that I happen to be fresh out of; and somehow nothing I bake ever looks quite like the picture that accompanies the recipe. Take the time I promised to bring a cake in to work to celebrate a beloved coworkers birthday. Having forgotten to bake the cake the night before, I found myself searching for ingredients to match a recipe at 7 a.m. Not being too foresighted, I already had the first three ingredients of a recipe in a bowl when I realized there were only three eggs in the refrigerator. The recipe called for four. Well, I reasoned, the three eggs I had were pretty big, so they’d just have to do. The cake didn't look as high and fluffy as I thought it should when it came out of the oven, but who measures?Then came time for the frosting. I decided a simple glaze frosting with confectioners sugar and milk would have to suffice under the hurried circumstances, and proceeded to reach for the confectioners sugar. What did I find in the box which I was sure had at least two cups of sugar in it? You guessed it, about a quarter of a cup. Oh, dear, how do you stretch a quarter cup of sugar?
Back to the recipe file. “Super Mocha Frosting—2 tsps coffee,1/ 2 stick of butter, 1/4 cup confectioners sugar, etc.” Terrific! Mocha frosting it shall be. Into the measly amount of sugar icing went two tsps of instant coffee. Oh, oh somethings wrong. Those coffee granules are not dissolving. Do you think they meant two tsps. of liquid coffee? I bet that’s what it was supposed to be. “Now, what? Some hot water to dissolve the coffee?” No, I guess that wasn’t the answer. The mixture became much too thin—and strong! Nobody would sleep for a week if they had a spoonful of that icing.
“Okay, think fast. You have another 10 minutes to straighten out this mess,” I mourned to myself. Standing before the open refrigerator door, I waited for an answer to present itself. Surely there was something in that great big box that would Solve the dilemma I was in. “Butter—that should do it.” Mix, mix, mix. “Hmm, a little curdly or something. Needs some smoothing out.” Back to the refrigerator. “How about some cool whip? That’s nice and smooth.” So into the mixing bowl went some cool whip. “By jove, it seems to be doing the trick. Just a little more should really do it.” Trouble is, just a little more was just a little too much, and again I had a consistency that was too soft for spreading. “It needs something sticky to hold it together better,” I mused. (A little Elmer's glue? Who would notice, mixed in with the cool whip? No-that would never do. Just a demonic thought, born out of sheer desperation.) By then it was almost time for the school bus to pick up the kids, so I temporarily abandoned my adventurous concoction to get their favorite sandwiches made—peanut butter and jelly, naturally.
And, lo and behold, there was my answer—peanut butter! What could be stickier? So into the conglomerate icing went spoonful by spoonful of peanut butter until the consistency was just right for spreading. When I brought the cake to work everyone had a pensive look as they took a bite, trying to put their finger, no doubt, on just what it was they were tasting. They all agreed it was delicious (well, maybe the word they used was “different” rather than “delicious”), and I can’t figure out why no one has asked me to bake another cake since. I'd like to add that today was my youngest son's birthday and I sent in 28 peanut butter and jelly cupcakes for him to share with his class. When he came home he told me every kid in the class wants him to bring some in again Soon. See, some people appreciate “different” concoctions.
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