This past Christmas I was feeling quite Holly Homemaker (as that time of year is prone to do to me), so I tied on my (huge) red apron and set to work baking gingersnaps.
For me, the perfect Christmas cookie is the gingersnap and I like to make a healthy batch or two (or five) anywhere between November 1st and December 24th. This past year after making my third batch of cookies, it really was too much for Dan and I to eat them ourselves, so I felt the festive glow of goodwill towards man, and the next frosty morning I packaged some of the cookies and sent them with Dan to work where he could share them with his co-workers.
When Dan got home that night I eagerly pounced, asking if his Swiss colleagues had enjoyed my Canadian cookie. They....HADN'T.
Internet, I may be a lot of things (bad at math, confused about the decline of the Backstreet Boys, unable to properly say the word 'statistic') but deficient in the kitchen? Well, in the timeless words of Kevin McCallister, I don't think so. And I'm not afraid to admit it! My gingersnaps are not only good, but hot damn they're great!
I couldn't believe people hadn't liked them. I mean after all, it 'tis the season to be jolly so JUST SHUT-UP AND LIKE THE COOKIES OR YOU'RE DEAD TO ME.
Perhaps a bit of an extreme reaction.
I formulated that maybe the reason they didn't like the cookie is because it contained molasses, and as any North American expat living in Switzerland will tell you, it's hard to find decent molasses here. And don't even tell me to go to the Migros, because that isn't molasses. I don't care what the jar says. No, no, I am talking the good stuff; that black, thick, liquorice gold that adds a warm heat to any baked treat is hard to find. I had to hunt high and low and when I did find the exact molasses I needed, the lady selling it to me argued that what I was buying should not be used in baking. That I should only eat it on bread! That there's too many minerals in it for baking! You crazy Canadian, don't you know ANYTHING?! You're making my head explode!
(Okay, she didn't call me a crazy Canadian, but my intentions to use the molasses in baking were making her head explode. She was honestly beside herself trying to explain what a mistake I was about to make.)
Anyhow, the molasses were exactly like what I would have bought in Canada, and they went in the cookies. So perhaps these Swiss aren't used to real molasses in baking and that's the reason they didn't like the cookies? Maybe? Do you think? That's definitely the reason, right?! Well no matter the reason for their dislike of the cookies, I may or may not have been carrying this rejection around with me for the past seven months and I may or may not have resolved that they will never again taste another delicacy from my kitchen.
Cut to this past Monday, and Dan and I have met up for lunch. Somehow the topic of those cookies came up and I got a bit...p'd off. Reacting in such a manner that would suggest only seven minutes had elapsed since the initial rejection, and not seven months. But then do you know what Dan called me?
He called me a little Voldemort because I couldn't let it go!
Can you believe it?!
I did the only reasonable thing possible: I laughed. Laughed so hard I started crying. Because seriously, I am a little Voldemort sometimes and the comparison was so unexpected. And true.
Then I did the next reasonable thing possible: I went home that night and baked my lemon blueberry streusel muffins for Dan to take to work with him the next day. Sort of a peace offering to end a cold war his co-workers didn't even know they were participating in.
I prepared these with tender loving care, only cursing occasionally they they better bleepin' enjoy these muffins because whenever this big of a mess is made, the end results are always delicious.
Oh yeah, I'm sort of the messiest cook around.
But in my defense, my Aunt Marge always told me that the best cooks are the messiest cooks.
And also, to only marry someone who will clean up after you.
Aunt Marge was a sage woman.
So did they like these muffins? Well according to Dan they loved 'em. I can't decide if he told me this to preserve my teetering mental sanity, or if they actually did.
But what am I saying?
Of course they would have liked these! What is not to like about them? They're lemon blueberry muffins that have a cinnamon streusel topping. So for now I have decided not cast the Avis spell on them, sending forth a flock of crazy brown birds.
(What? Did you think I'd use a worse spell? Please. I'm not such a crazy Voldemort as to threaten the Avada Kedavra curse on people who don't like my muffins. I save that one for people who don't like my roast chicken and gravy.)