Step Off Betty Crocker

I’m blaming the beautiful  Becky over at Sarcastic Quilter if this all goes pear shaped. Earlier this week she mentioned the website of Bakerella on her blog and I have spent hours poring over the website and more hours subsequently sending Becky death threats for posting the link. Like I need cake. I'm already the shape of a wine barrel with a head. Like I need the stress of feeling completely inadequate because I could NEVER make something so fabulously gorgeously pretty. Case in point: I’m sure you’ve all read my post about the flying ho ho cake.

The sad truth is I consider myself to be baking challenged. And while it’s mildly irritated me over the years, I always consoled myself with the idea that I was a “career woman” and that I “sew” and “quilt” and that I didn’t need to be able to bake fabulous cakes to be a whole human being. My sister on the other hand is a whiz at cake baking and scones in particular. Plus she’s thin. I pretty much hate her as much as I dislike Bakerella.

I did make a Dora birthday cake for Miss Pyjamas birthday one year. Dora looks seriously pissed off rather than smiley. This chick isn’t about to whip out a Spanish phrase book, she’s about to grab an Uzi from that overstuffed backpack of hers. 

I didn’t do chemistry in high school, so for me there is something in the equation of flour + eggs+ milk that = glue. It doesn’t matter how carefully I measure or follow the instructions. My blog buddy Leslie from A Clever Title Goes Here asserts that cooking and baking are the same thing. As much as I respect many of Leslie’s opinions, I beg to differ. I’ve never killed anyone with my rendang curry for example.

Usually when I bake, the family pretend enthusiasm, it sits in the kitchen growing mould on a pretty cake plate and 3 days later I feed it to the dogs, who will eat pretty much anything. Indy and Lola rock at helping me dispose of the evidence of my baking misdeeds.

Once I got over my Must Kill Becky For Posting phase… and got rational and sane again I decided maybe I’m not crap at baking. Maybe I just need to practice to develop confidence. Maybe I have wonky measuring cups from a land where ½ a cup is really a whole Australian cup. Maybe my oven isn’t possessed by evil baking spirits.

I’m pre-warning Blog-dom that I intend to bake a cake this weekend. I’m pretty sure I can throw some eggs and flour and other mysterious ingredients into a bowl and transform them into something that doesn’t resemble a pancake and is edible. And if I can't - I'm hopping the first plane to America to kick Bakerella's arse.

This time it’s personal.