FAULTY HEARTS REMEDY
You know
You know
We've all heard about this growing up, that the adult life is all about responsibilities. "Pfff, whatever
I set out to take the first post of 2014 easy
Oh mah God
The problem with me as a recipe dreamer hallucinater during the still-ongoing Thanksgiving carnival is that every year, in utter rudeness, I always feel like leaving the table even before the turkey makes it out of the oven. Evidently from my premature and inappropriate blabbering of the X'mas blend coffee bars in last November while the whole town was still chattering about tweaking pumpkin pies to death, to now this uncooperative side-tracking dessert that doesn't even rhyme with "ies" and " akes", it is obviously true. I have no table-side manners. Now before I leave, pass me the damn stuffings. If you think that I have zero patience, nor the skills to time a topic in order to be well received, you're
As a reluctant and often times struggling home-baker, I have an unfounded, persistent, borderline sickening obsession with making biscuits and scones. Nobody in the family eats them but me really (it isn't saying much when you scan through all members in the family). I have to endure the look of lostness and concealed disappointment in Jason's eyes every time he comes home to the smell of butter and sugar, and yet I put myself through it often (yes everything is about me). They aren't the most foolproof things to bake either, evidently from the ghost of dead doughs past that still lingers in the apartment. So I don't know, I guess they just feel so much more earnest than cookies and cakes, a warmer and friendlier thing to break over a conversation or a cup of tea