“I made this cookie for you.” “It’s a baseball, Marleen.” … “And you wonder why I hate baking for you, Don.”
December is the perfect time to share recipes. Not only is it festive and leaves you knee-deep in a thesaurus, trying to figure out what the heck a sugar plum is..
(and, sweet-Paula-Dean-In-a-Butter-churn, does anyone actually know?)
…it also gives those of us who loathe baking, a new, but certainly false, hope that, we too, love to put cream cheese out to soften, separate whites from yolks, and the task of trying to convince a chocolate Yule log that it does, in fact, want to Yule with the other Yules.
Yesterday was December third. Which makes today the fourth, tomorrow the fifth, and so on. But, that’s not the point. The point is, I woke up, pulled the rat’s next of hair out of my eyes, and decided, while I’d still make something this year, I’d start the holiday season by accepting that I am a Two Ingredient Betty.
noun
1. A person the exact opposite of Betty Crocker, who would prefer all recipes had two or less ingredients.
2. One who can’t stand baking and won’t hesitate to insult all types of food:
i.e. They knew she was a Two Ingredient Betty, when the crowd observed the woman shouting at the produce, “Look at that Yam walking around like it owns the place. Shut your face, Yam.”
This, year, while I shake the pre-cut sugar cookies out onto the pan, and tear the sticker that says, “Baked on 12/21/12 by the Piggla Wiggla” off the bottom of the plastic pie tin, I shall do so, knowing I don’t have to make up for the state of my Peppermint Divinity, by telling everyone it “sinned before it got to the party, so it probably tastes off. Also, I forgot to buy peppermint.”
I can proudly say, “I’m a Two Ingredient Betty, and here are the cheese balls I made out of cheese and nothing else …possibly a couple drops of wine that got away from me. May they rest in peace.”
So, in the spirit of all the Two Ingredient Bettys out there, I shall now kick off this month’s worth of special recipes with something I’ve made, succesfully, three times now:
1.) Heat the oven to 350.
2.)Pour cake mix into bowl. You must do this while holding your new baby because he doesn’t enjoy being put down. If you happen to drop the baby in the cake mix, don’t panic. Pull him out, dust him off, and keep going.
3.) Sprint through the house, looking for the other children. It’s far too quiet. The baby may be powdered like bunt cake, but that’s nothing compared to the other two who’ve found your underwear and are displaying it for the neighbors, through the window without a curtain.
4.) Knees to chest, sprint downstairs and find the can opener that doesn’t work. Like a cave woman, beat that can within an inch of its life. Coax the pumpkin out of the can like the elusive Bengal tiger it is. Plop that mess in the bowl.
5.) Try to mix everything with a spoon used to serve cereal to mice. Switch to alternate spoon, which, though slotted and not appropriate for the task, brings some dignity to your adult-sized hands.
6.) Scream death threats up the stairs while executing the “one for the baking sheet, one for my mouth” technique of spooning the dough out for baking. Un-knotch your yoga pants by one.
7.) Place in oven and bake for ten to eleven minutes.
8.) Relocate children while cookies bake. You find them and realize you never liked any of the stuff they’ve just broken anyway. Who needs things that make you look pretty? I mean, honestly.
9.) Remove cookies from oven. Don’t let cool. Eat all of them. Wash down with holiday spirits.
10.) There is no step ten. You are now beached on the floor, covered in half-eaten cookies and Schnapps. It’s only a matter of time before the children find you and ask where the cookies are.
They will now commence whacking you with the slotted spoon.
Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com. You can reach her at .
She also hides out on and .
