Look at How Far We've Come

The time has finally come. Will the gremlin and I be able to accomplish this feat that’s set out before us? The remarkable task of creating our aunt’s birthday cake, a double layered princess cake, seemed daunting while we searched for supplies we needed in what would remind a reasonable person of a labyrinth. Pure white crown molding drawer faces and cabinet doors populated the kitchen in such a way it looked like a toddler flicked a 2-foot-long paintbrush dunked in white paint. Navigating this new world whilst attempting to create our tour de force was relatively stressful; similar to the feeling one would get on test day. However, hope came in the form of Reese’s past experiences, grabbing one of the available mini aprons tucked away in one of the many bottom drawers spewed around the kitchen. “Gween Daddy. Gerch. Gerch Daddy,” she said, referencing the Grinch perched upon a snowy mountain pictured on her green Christmas apron. With all the necessary ingredients laid upon the speckled grey granite countertop, the gremlin grab her chair to become wrist level with the surface we’d both eventually become familiar with.

As we readied our newly found stainless-steel bowls for both the dry and wet ingredients and the frosting, we utilized the kitchen’s sound system to listen to the gremlin’s playlist composition: Taylor Swift, Cole Swinton (Heads Carolina is quite catchy), and Lorde. She’s such a little goom when she gets her way, evident through how her smirk develops by way of the left side of her mouth rising as she laughs. The flour, baking soda, and the grainy salt granules went into one, responsible by Reese and her navy-blue measuring cups while I prepared the eggs, vanilla, and the newly melted chocolate in another. After that, I gave the gremlin the flat black stir stick to blend up her powdery mixture. She looked at me and stated, “I hungy, Daddy.” After enquiring where the snack drawer was and finding a Chips Ahoy cookie for the starving monster, we combined the ingredients and whipped the thick consistency. As she added some water to thin the batter out, I set the oven temperature to 350°, filling the space with an amalgamated aroma of the few burned crumbs that were in the bottom of the stove. That soon changed however as the two differently sized pans of cake batter went into their heated prison for 40 minutes. The smell was like warmed sugar and vanilla.

Trying to get a cake out of the pan can sometimes prove to be difficult. Switching between a spatula, fork, and a Kitchen Aid mixing stick, we managed to pop out both circular cakes onto the stainless-steel cooling rack in place without much damage (that came a few seconds later when a lack of patience compelled the monster to grab a corner and toss it in her mouth. “Ooooh, hot Daddy, hot,” she said). While the cakes were cooling with waves of steam dancing from the top of them, we mixed the pink frosting in the unused mixing bowl. Golden butter, velvety icing sugar, aromatic and dark vanilla extract, and just enough milk to thin it out. The goose had control over the food coloring. Holding the tiny bottle over the stainless-steel bowl, she counted the drops. “Du, thwee, pour, pive,” she continued as she bopped her head to some Shaina Twain over the speakers. I chose to handle the stirring of the mixture for fear of another blob on the ceiling occurrence (she didn’t like this at all and it was evident from her bottom lip sticking out as far as her petit nose). With the cakes now cooled, we began to frost the larger one. Both with a red-handled frosting applicator, we fared fairly well with two sets of hands going at it (it was mostly me. She kept on eating what was ever on the applicator). Upon placing the smaller one atop of what now looked like a Barbie platform, we both frosted it to complete the rough look of the cake.

The most difficult aspect was now completed. Though it by no means looks like something Buddy Valastro created, our double stacked princess cake was something we were very proud of. “You want to put on the pearls Reesie?” I asked as her impressed look continued. “Berls! Berls, Daddy,” she said as I got them out. Setting a couple dozen in a bowl, their color reminded me of the silver armour you’d see on Game of Thrones. While she very delicately placed each individual pearl in its place, sticking it in the pink frosting, I put some uncolored frosting in a bag after placing the tip in it to apply it. Happy Birthday Aunt! we wrote with my hands guiding Reese’s to ensure it’s at least mildly readable. It turned out really lovely actually. All our hard work over the last few weeks accumulated in a wonderful fashion. One final high-five with the gremlin than it was clean up time. This was normally where we’d part ways, but since our new environment had a dishwasher, she stayed to load it (both with the dirty dishes and herself at one point being fully inside it). With everything done and clean, I picked up the gremlin, gave her a kiss on the forehead and pointed to the towered cake we just made. “You made that,” I said. She looked into my eyes and with one tiny hand cupping my left cheek while her other hand pointed to the cake, she said, “Reesie and Daddy did.”

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and comment!  

Tiny Paws

This penultimate session is an almost bittersweet one I think as I prepared the ingredients for our bite size cinnamon buns. Though it has indeed been a few weeks since we embarked on this journey, time has secretly flew by at a speed I can’t comprehend. Luckily for this blog however, Reese has slightly recovered from her sickness as she only shows signs of mild nasal congestion, which is still accompanied by a nighttime cough that’s comparable to a seal’s bark. A sick child is an awful thing to experience from a parent’s perspective, often creating an inability to focus attention on anything else. Nonetheless, the determined face of the two-year-old was evident as she squinted her eyes while grabbing the oven mints with an almost clinical precision from the bottom of the stainless-steel oven. She was rearing to go. “Num-num Daddy, I heddy,” she guaranteed me as she attempted to pull her flamingo printed apron over her blonde locks (I had to intervene however as she somehow managed to tighten the strap while putting it on backwards, effectively choking herself while she looked like something out of Teen Titans. “Help Daddy help,” she said. Poor gremlin).

This session was set to be more of an intermediate level difficulty due to how we’d eventually get our end product: Bite size cinnamon buns. Regular size cinnamon buns are complexed enough, existing in the world at about the size of a hockey puck, by which they create a seemingly endless path inwards that looks like a scrumptious blackhole. What we’d be making today instead would require a little more finesse, considering these bite size morsels are roughly three times smaller than their larger counterparts. I suppose the only advantage we had was the goose’s dainty hands to roll the tiny, spiral treats. We began by swishing milk and hot water into the maroon-colored bowl. Putting the grainy yeast in the gremlin’s palm for momentary safe keeping while I grabbed the bamboo stir stick, I got her to sprinkle it atop of the thin and warm milky solution. After waiting a few minutes, Reese furthered her egg cracking skills with only two casualties that her mother helped clean from the floor (I purchased another half-dozen prior to this). The addition of both brown and white sugar thickened the mixture along with the activation of the yeast that the monster added. In the second bowl, two types of flour and salt were combined then escorted to the milky solution. After all four of our hands were finished kneading the dough, the wait game was on.

The filling was of relative ease in creating it. Three tablespoons of Reese’s famous microwave butter, a tablespoon of amber colored cinnamon powder, and five heaping tablespoons of brown sugar. The cream cheese frosting was of no difference, with of course the exception sneaking the required unmelted butter into the small, white glass dish before the monster noticed she hadn’t melted it. In with it went the velvety cream cheese, some powdered sugar, and a couple tablespoons of milk. Setting aside the filling and frosting, the dough was now ready to lay out flat into a semi-rectangle the size of a cookie sheet. “Now Daddy?” Reese asks as her hand was occupied with the cinnamon filling, patiently waiting to throw the powder onto the flattened off-white colored dough like she was feeding ducks at the local pond. She got most of it on the dough while some went overboard off the island we were situated at. Next, we rolled the cinnamon ladened dough into a log, with her on one end and me on the other. It ended up looking like an overweight garter snake. With scraper in hand, the miniature buns began to form. I showed Reese how to grease the cookie pan, invoking the great words of Mr. Miyagi: “Wax on, wax off,” I said. Her giggle is an utmost infectious one.

As the aroma of cinnamon filled the house, the gremlin’s eyes very rarely left the glass of the oven, peering inside to ensure the fruits of her labors were baking accordingly. After an endless 17 minutes, they were delicately taken out and put onto wire racks to cool. The golden color of the sweets made them all the more decadent. The goose of course couldn’t wait, grabbing one with an automatic “hot” coming from her mouth. She nonetheless ran off with it like a thief in the night. Letting them cool for 20 minutes, the cream cheese frosting silently screamed for unity with its destined mates. The gremlin ordered 2, with a glass of milk of course, devouring them both within a matter of minutes. The slight crunch complimented its soft but dense inside, leaving cinnamon crumble to inevitably fall away to the depths of the floor. Reflecting upon this session, I had great confidence that we could conquer the last recipe, the double decker princess cake. Until next time everybody!

Sick Day

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. The weekend yielded very poor comfort that was supposed to give rest and relaxation after a hectic week. The gremlin became ill Saturday morning, family came and stayed, and the mounting obligations from both work and school were evident as I remained glued to my brushed silver MacBook. Reese relaxed on the maroon-colored suede sectional, enjoying her milk while watching Homeward Bound. “You ok sweetpea,” I asked her as her sinuses were attempting to rid themselves of their depositories. A crackly “I k, Daddy, I k” she answered back. Cuddled up in her fire engine red fleecy blanket, I promised her a delicious whoopie pie to ease her from her subjectively discomfort. The poor gremlin was down and out. Embarking into this without my trusty, 3-foot nothing inch tall partner, I wondered if I could recreate that classic light and fluffy chocolate cake pastry I remember from childhood. Along with the plethora of family members who would bake, I would sometimes also sneak a few decadent treats from the local bakeshop. The moist, cocoa flavour of their whoopie pie’s circular cakes entangled with the pure-white, creamy marshmallow filling created a mouth-watering experience unlike any other.

I began by separately preparing both the ‘dry’ ingredients and ‘wet’ ingredients at subsequent times. The pastry flour contrasting with the cocoa powder reminded me of some of Vincent van Gogh’s paintings, like At Eternity’s Gate and The Starry Night, with its completely random swirl placement within the magenta and white colored bowl. This contrast continued as the baking soda, salt, and brown sugar flew into the bowl, admittedly with less finesse than if the gremlin had delicately pour the powders into the bowl with her measuring cups. Eyeing the second bowl, the introduction of buttermilk presents an acidic tangy aroma as the liquid attempts to climb up the other side of the bowl from which it was pour into. The golden canola oil works its way into the bowl next as the last few droplets cling to the surface of the crimson red measuring cups, refusing to concede and flow into the bowl. A couple eggs, vanilla extract, and hot water jumps in for their share of the glory. As the two differing mixtures come together, a chocolate brown batter begins to form, giving off smells of rich cocoa and a bit of vanilla. Using 1 and a half tablespoons of batter, I scooped them out into circular forms on the cookie sheet. The smell of chocolate, brown sugar, and faint signs of butterscotch filled the house. “Daddy,” Reesie says from inside the living room. “Tookie! Tookie Daddy!”

The filling came next. This was the first recipe we attempted that required both salted and unsalted butter. The pale yellow from the differing butters began to fade into a pasty white color due to the introduction of 2 cups of icing sugar. The added vanilla extract however added a darkness to it which was subsequently brightened by the filling’s signature marshmallow fluff ingredient. The timing was impeccable, with the alarm style timer going off to notify me the cookies are finished baking as I placed the filling in the fridge for its 20-minute sombre. The luxurious chocolate pastries were baked to perfection. A soft and flakey consistency was obtain, and a little gremlin’s approval was sought. Reesie’s little blue eyes shut while she ate one half of a fully composed whoopie pie. While she snacked upon the cake, she said, “Soooo tood Daddy. So tood.” The sick goose also enjoyed one half of a fully formed whoopie pie. The pace by which she consumed the halved whoopie pie was reminiscent of how cats often eat cat treats, with little to no breathes in-between bites. The finished taste did in fact remind me of all those past sweet treats, reinforcing the conclusion that we’ve come a long ways from when we were initially looking for flour at the market.    

Blob on the Ceiling

Our first foray into the wonderful world of frosting was one that was speckled with a fair bit amount of quality assurance, fluctuating sugar highs, and hot pink blots on the bright white tile ceiling. Reese’s excitement was evident through her declaration of what we were making: “Tink cuckcakes! Tink cuckcakes Daddy!” I purchased her yet another apron; this one with flamingos on top a bright salon pink colour that would cause an ache in the eyes if you were to look at it for too long. It thankfully rose a little higher on her chest and a little lower towards her tiny size 4 shoe size feet. This particular covering was sought after due to the complicated concoctions we would be making from here on out; pink frosted cupcakes, Whoppie pies, bitesize cinnamon buns, and finally, the pièce da resistance, the double layered princess cake. Marginally less similar to having the feeling of going into a final exam knowing you’re comfortable with the subject matter, I high fived the gremlin’s little hand, ensured she was stable on her stool, turned on an Aaron Carter playlist (“Carter Daddy, Carter.” How could I say no?) and nodded my head at her (while she looked back at me with her index finger in her left nostril). God help us.

Our trusty magenta and white colored bowls were our first stop. Separating the two, one for the wet and one for the dry, Reese had the crimson-colored measuring cups, ready to dunk into both the wheat-colored all-purpose flour we borrowed from a relative and the silky white cake flour. 2 and a half cups of the all-purpose (half a cup on the floor), 1 cup of cake flour (a pinch in the monster’s mouth), a couple teaspoons of salt and baking powder (all over the countertop), and 2 cups of sugars. “Stir it all together,” I asked Reese as she glared at me waiting to stick her bamboo sticks into the dry solution. Swosh; Swish; Swosh; the sound of the white mixture being stirred was akin to the sound of a child dragging a stick on a sandy beach. I measured out the unsalted butter for Reese for her usual walk across the oak hazelwood floor to the stainless-steel microwave. This particular recipe out of her Princess Baking book called for both a cup of milk and a half a cup of heavy cream. The mixture of the two created an almost velvety composition that turned a sharp yellow when the monster deposited her melted butter into the it. After a tablespoon of vanilla and a few eggs (and a bit of eggshell courtesy of the goose), we were ready to merge the two solutions. With her petite hands holding the wet mixture in place, I dumped the slightly off-white powder solution into it. The baby blue polka dotted cupcake cups were then filled and off to the oven they went.

The frosting’s inception was next. Reese didn’t fully understand the necessity of requiring the sticks of butter to be solid for the purpose mixing the frosting. “Mykaave. Mykaave,” she kept saying. I managed to distract her with some leftover Halloween candy. “Ooooh wow,” she stated as her eyes got big for the shiny, golden copper wrapper of the Twix bar I propositioned her with. A whooping 6 cups of powdered sugar, some salt, and a dash of vanilla, the frosting was ready for its defining color. I showed Reesie how to squeeze the food coloring bottle to get a few drops into the mixture. The consistency was so that it was difficult to properly blend, especially for that of a 2 and half year old. Giving her her own stir stick, she dipped it into the now hot pink mixture. Taking it back out proved to be far more difficult however, though when she finally succeeded, her pull’s velocity resulted in catapulting the habitants of her spoon straight onto the ceiling. As we both looked at the soiled spot with amusement, I climbed upon the counter to get the blob off the pearly white tiles before the food coloring set in, creating a permanency that solid as this post (and before her mother seen it). The alarm went off on the oven causing a startle that resulted in a jump for both of us. Each cupcake cup came out of the forest green silicon muffin tray without difficulty, being placed upon a cooling rack waiting to be basked with the non-ceilingfied, hot pink frosting. The results were majestic. I had to keep Reese out of them for the reminder of the night, eventually hiding them in a cabinet until bedtime came for the gremlin. Though before that came, we sat at the table, each with a cupcake each in front of us, smiling at each other before looking up at the previously occupied ceiling area that once belonged to a lovely pink blob.   

Some Nostalgic Baking

Chocolate chip banana bread has been a staple amongst the family since I was a child due to the number of bakers we have. The scent of the slightly sweet yet yeasty smells evokes a type of nostalgia from childhood, effectively thrusting me back to a time where my fleecy, off-white coloured Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pyjamas were still an option for me. “Where’s your apron Reesie?” I asked as I pulled her usual stool up to the countertop. “Mommy,” she said. “Mommy has your apron? Why does Mommy have your apron?” I questioned her. “It’s in the dryer,” her mother softly yelled from the study. With the apron on the monster, magenta coloured bowls on the counter, and all the ingredients at our grasp, I asked Reesie, “You ready for this one, goob?” “Oh Daddy,” she snaps back.

Picking up the blackened bananas and handing them to Reese, her confusion as to why they were mushy and not their regular bright yellow colour was evident through her head tilting to one side, along with her momentary frowning facial features. Slitting the top of the soft banana’s neck with a stainless-steel butter knife to easily access its gooey pulp, I offered them to Reese. She was of course still befuddled and somewhat disgusted from the fermenting fruit. “Peel them sweetpea,” I said as I measured the butter for her to pop into her trusty microwave once she had finished with the bananas. Reese held the masher in her tiny hand, ready to shove the stain-steel meshed head into the bowl of mangled bananas. She was quite successful, taking her pride with her all the way to the microwave with the measuring cup of butter in her hand.

“Carter, Daddy. Carter,” she said as we poured the silky white flour into the bowl of what looked like something she would make out of hand soap and toothpaste in the bathroom sink. Her mother’s affinity for Aaron Carter and his unfortunate passing meant his song catalog had been playing for the majority of the day. She’s still requesting Aaron Carter as of this posting. After she dumped both the crystally sugar and salt, the dark and aromatic vanilla extract, and the alkalotic baking soda, she went to town on the mixture, stirring it with every ounce of endurance she had in her little fair skinned arm. The final step was then to wrestle the milk chocolate chips away from the gremlin, or at the very least, get her to share some with the batter. Three quarters of a cup into the mixture and now we’re tasked with scooping out the batter into the dark grey aluminum bread loaf pan. After Reese sprayed the pan (and after I wiped it out because of all the excess), I held the bowl while she used her bamboo stir stick to pour it out into the pan. Her movements are becoming more calculated, leading me to be hopeful for the double layer princess cake we’re making soon. Off to the oven we go!

Tick, tock, tick, tock. Reesie checked on the mixture roughly every 10 times during the bread’s 50-minute bake time. The sight of a pacing 2-year-old waiting for food was something akin to watching Dennis the Menace. She’s definitely a gremlin. She decided she needed her rainbow-coloured Crocs on her feet to make the pacing more comfortable. “You wanna check on the bread, love?” I asked as I held out a smooth toothpick. The classical alarm clock sound rung out as I grabbed the new floral baking glove we picked up during the previous day. She exhibited a certain conciseness in ensuring the wooden splinter went in and out as smooth as possible. No residue on the pick means we’re good to go. The smell of it most certainly took me back to simpler times, though the little monster in front of me ensures my continuous stationary status. After 15 minutes of letting our banana bread cool off, we dove in. It was exquisite; light banana taste with a hint of cream and sugar along with the melty dark brown chocolate chips throughout. I had to cut Reesie off, especially given the fact bedtime was in 30 minutes at that time (sugar highs are real!). I’ve come to realize this routine may have to transcend the required blog duration and reach further into the future due to the joy it puts on her face.

Until next time everyone!

The Non-Fluff Good Stuff

Firstly, I’ve noticed a slight confusion when using the noun macaroon. There is in fact a general consensus that it refers to a French dessert that’s tinted with food colouring, with its key feature being its two cookies being sandwiched with a filling between them. While this is very much true (and my goodness are they delicious), those types of cookies are spelled macarons. When discussing macaroons, they’re actually almost like Hersey kisses but made out of a whipped and hardened coconut substance (also very scrumptious) that’s a golden white and is bite size. However, we’ll be making macaroons that some might know as frogs. These morsels are still made with shredded coconut but instead of heavenly fluffiness, the coconut is within a soft but brittle piece of chocolate.

As I tied Reese’s apple red coloured apron behind her back, her smile lit up and she wanted those bamboo baking utensils from our earlier session. “Sir daddy,” she said. “We have to wait to get the ingredients in the bowl to stir it, you turkey,” I responded as I got some one of our stainless-steel saucepans from under the cupboard. Ever since I showed her my drum skills to the backing of Baby Shark using my worn-down pencils, she now taps longer objects and says, “Daddy doo doo, momma doo doo.” Bouncing my head to her beats and singing along, I grabbed the bright white 2L milk jug and the aluminum foil covered butter. After heating a half cup of butter (I honestly believe the microwave’s her favourite part), that and the bright white 2% milk went into the saucepan. A cup of sugar and 6 tablespoons of cocoa powder. I forgot how richly brown and velvety cocoa powder was. Reese’s nose wrinkled while her upper lip pulled up after tasting the powder off the tip of her tiny, two-year-old index finger. “Daddy!” she said, “It wasn’t me you little goob,” I replied. Reesie stirred it in a fairly uniform way as I turned the dial to activate the burners.

As we waited, for our chocolatey concoction to boil on the glass top, Reese had to try the coconut and the oats that were eventually destined to be added to the mixture. She had mixed feelings with the coconut; absolutely hated the uncooked oats. But I knew everything was better in chocolate. She has a new thing where there’s officially Christmas decorations up and she go around and say all their names. “No-man, rainder, danta, gween [a wreath on the wall],” she went on. Al the first few half-globed brown bubbles came to the surface, the steel cut pale oats went in, followed by the coconut and the dark coloured and vanilla extract. After letting it boil for an additional 60 seconds, I cut a piece of wax paper to place on the grey cookie sheets. I gave her her own tiny spoon to scoop the mixture out and onto the wax paper. Her curiosity got the best of her, and the macaroon covered spoon went into her mouth. “Hot, hot daddy,” she said. “It’s ok little one, it’ll cool down.” It did and it eventually went back into mouth to finish it. It was a hit!  

Upon placing the mixture onto the sheet, I was impressed with the uniformity of the globs; probably 2 to 3 inches from side-to-side with the coconut shreds coming out from every angle. Into the fridge they go. Washing the dishes while the gremlin bathed with her mother’s aid, I took the change to clean up the poor kitchen. Dishes, counters, sinks. There were globs of chocolate covered coconut pieces in the few places, but she’s getting pretty steady. Hearing the gremlin come down the stairs, I prepared the chilled macaroon for us. “Reesie! Come try this with daddy,” I said. She scooped that up like how a cobra dashes towards you if it feels threatened. Jumping up and down, I could tell she was proud of herself.

On to the next!  

Let's Get Ready to Rumble!

"Be careful on that stool you tiny turkey," I said as I attempted to figure out Reese’s baker’s apron. It’s an apple red color, no longer than the length of a placemat, with the fabric threads barely reaching to her kneecaps. Placing it around her neck and tying the two frayed ends to each other behind her back, she rubs her small paws together. “Are you ready sweetpea,” I say, as I caught myself wishing for an extra 5 feet of vinylic, peppered speckled white counter space upon seeing the supplies we’re using taking up all the real estate in front of us.

Separating the two-melamine magenta and white colored mixing bowls, the gremlin thought it was imperative that we counted the bowls and stated their colors. “Duu, twee, fife, dix,” (she’s always starts at two, and yes, there were only two bowls) she says while swaying her hips back and forth on the stool. She continues, “Dink and pite dink and pite dink and pite” (that’s gremlinian for pink and white [I think]), she goes on until the lime green food coloring catches her attention. “Dat’s gween daddy,” she says while looking into my eyes for approval. I asked her, “So, you ready to make these cookies?’ Her unimpressed head tilt was quite telling, with a curly strand of pale blonde hair laying in between her two sea blue peepers; definitely a yes (we only had 30 minutes due to her Paw Patrol time at 6:30pm).     

The challenge begins. Reese’s tiny fingers grasp the shiny, crimson red measuring cups, waiting to disturb the peaceful white flour inside the mustard yellow coloured bag. The full 1 cup goes in; the full 1 cup comes out; and the oak hazelwood kitchen floor becomes the brand-new owner of an entire cup of flour. “Let’s try that again,” I said. Her smile’s so infectious. The second attempt went much smoother. After the 2 and a half cups were added (carefully mind you), I then filled two cups worth of sugar, a tablespoon of baking powder, and a three-quartered teaspoon of salt, laying each on the counter for her little paws to pick up and put in the dry bowl. Our new bamboo baking utensils were up next. Guiding her arms (I had just finished sweeping up the flour casualty), she stirred the dry mixture into an acceptable consistency that would remind anyone of sand granules on a tropical beach.

The wet ingredients came next. A word of advice, letting a two-year-old crack open an egg probably isn’t a great idea (I’m fairly confident I ate shell pieces during our testing). At the very least, have a few spares for backup just in case (my new saying: Two in the bowl, four on the floor). Her knowledge of the microwave meant she could melt the butter. Carefully taking the bowl to the hunch, I opened the door for her most proud moment; she placed the butter inside the microwave, closed the stainless-steel door, and pushed the textured 1/3-minute badge. As soon as the opaque glass plate started turning, her eyes met mine as she threw her arms up in a triumphant showing of accomplishment. As I used our seemingly ancient Christmas hot oven mitts to dump the golden liquid into the bowl, Reese was ready with the spoon to mix the butter into the eggs and pure vanilla extract. “Hhhoott,” she says as she attempts to blow into the mixing bowl to cool it down.

As we mixed the two categories together, she could not wait to get to enjoy the fruits of her labour. After clapping while I sloshed the bamboo spoon to blend everything together, she couldn’t resist to sneak a piece of the pale dough. Down the hatch it went. That was of course before I cut the golden yellow bag of Hersey’s chocolate chips open to dump them into the bowl. As we crept up onto Paw Patrol time, then bath time, she insured she didn’t leave the kitchen before both tiny, fragile hands were full of chocolate chips (her mother wasn’t a fan of this decision due to the melty properties of such substance). As she dove into the abyss of Paw Patrol, I scooped each cookie into a ball and plopped each one onto the Betty Crocker dark grey baking sheet. After an exact 11 minutes, the cookies were ready. The time it took to cool them of coincided with the end of Reese’s show. “Reese! Your cookies are ready,” I shouted from the kitchen (the sound of her running is reminiscent of multiple baseballs rolling down a set of stairs). A high five closed out this successful session. “Are they good?” I asked. I was met with, “Oh daddy,” as she makes her way up the stairs to her mother and bath time.

Success!              

Gathering the Supplies

Beginning the explorative process of family baking Reesie and I have in front of us, our journey started before we even stepped foot inside the supermarket. We swung by the local Dollarama to pick up some last-minute decorative pieces for Halloween. Of course, Reese saw two sparkly items neatly perched upon one of the store’s matte gray shelving units. One was a red shiny tinselled Santa Claus; the other, a white tinselled snowman. They had these black circular button eyes that resembled something out of the movie Coraline. Both weren’t any bigger than the size of her two-year-old forearm, yet both put a sparkle in her eye. “No-man and danta. No-man daddy,” she’d yell out as I waited to pay the five dollars for each of these decorative holiday figures that took no more than 25 cents to put together. Now that that’s settled, off to the market we went.

With grocery list in hand while the gremlin had both her ‘danta and no-man’ nestled firmly under each one of her arms, we embarked on collecting our baking ingredients. Firstly, we searched near and far for the flour. Scouring the aisles, we eventually came to the to the very busy baking section. “Unbleached. Cake and pastry. Whole wheat. All-purpose. Well damn,” I said under my breath, all while Reese was introducing no-man to an apple-sized, red coloured glass container of bread yeast. She’s very accommodating of her guests. A bag of cake and pastry seemed the logical choice, even with its mustard yellow coloured bag being lightly dusted with its own flour particles. “You think this’ll do?” I asked Reese, as I carefully placed the five-kilogram bag in the cart. The nodding of her head in an up and down motion while making her two figures dance upon the chosen bag of flour was good enough for me.

The food coloring for all the items we’ll be making in the future was the next endeavour. I asked, “What colors should we get Reesie?” Looking up at me while fumbling her newly acquired cookie cutters, along with her two new best friends, she says, “Bue, wed, dellow…  danta daddy!” This suggestion proved to be an easy one, especially considering each pink pastel colored box of individual food coloring bottles had all the primary colors. Working our way down the aisle, being accompanied by the sounds a decorative santa and snowman would theoretically make from the perspective of a two-and-a-half-year-old (she sometimes thinks everything is Pokémon inspired, meaning no-man says “noooooo-man, noooooo-man,” while santa says, “oh oh oh I’m danta.”), we picked up baking soda, baking powder, icing sugar, and all the necessary cupcake baking cups, sprinkles, and small accents for our tasty treats. To the refrigerated items we go!

By this time, Reese had a half-eaten container of blueberries by her side; I suppose a requisite for being placed in the children’s seat in the front of the grocery cart. Using her pristine and accurate sense of direction (her index finger pointing at my choices offered to her), we placed the unsalted butter, the whole milk, the margarine, and the dozen eggs in the cart. Upon gathering up the ‘wet’ ingredients, we began our walk to the front cashes. With her hand on mine (which now both were covered in blueberry guts), I asked her “Are you excited to start baking Reesie?” She responded by placing her non-blueberry covered hand on my cheek and said, “Deepa do ice cream.” That’s a definite yes in my books. This entire process was of course to use all the baking practice over the next couple weeks, in the form of cookies and other treats, to create a wonderful but intermediate leveled princess cake for Reese’s aunt. Will we be ready? Like the gremlin said, “Deepa do ice cream.”