I really love to bake. I dream of producing beautiful cut out cookies, designed with precision expertise, in full, rich colours. What I end up with, is a lot closer to, well, the opposite.
This Christmas, at our annual open house, we played our traditional mixed music CD (ranges from soul, to funk to “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” theme song), burned a few seasonal scented candles, snacked on some h’ordeuvres, and enjoyed the company of our friends.
For the kids, I envisioned a magical cookie decorating area. Picture perfect gingerbread men and snowmen cut outs, ready for their transformation of glitter and red and green coloured candies. What ended up happening was closer to an ultra souped up, turbo charged, sugar loaded expression of candy hoarding. Each child managed to jam as much as they possibly could on each cookie. Artistic consideration out, major candy overload in.
After I reconciled with the fact that the cookies were not going to make it on the cover of the next Martha Stewart publication, I realized that the kids were having a ball. The time of their lives and they were actually quite proud of their creations. And they all ate them too. And that is what makes every cook and baker proud. Did they care that I used organic butter and molasses in the batter? Were they thinking of the endless hours it took to roll, cut and bake the figures? Nope. They were mesmerized by the variety of options with which they could express themselves.
And really, isn’t Christmas a time for eating? And being with the people you like the most?