Another Kitchen Disaster

As you can see from the picture, my bundt cake did not turn out exactly the way I had envisioned it. I was trying my cousin’s Deb’s latest entry to the family newsletter and cookbook, Triple Chocolate Coffee Cake. First, I broke the cardinal rule of cooking – never try a new recipe on company. Actually, I’ve broken that rule numerous times with mixed results. I never learn.

Then I made my next mistake – I changed something in the recipe. In this case, it was the pan I baked it in. The recipe said to pour the batter into two 8X8” square pans. I decided it would make a lovely bundt cake. Hah-ha. I realized that the bundt pan was probably too full, but plowed ahead and plopped it in the oven. Sure enough, the batter rose and spilled over the sides, making a terrible stink throughout the house. But the worse part was, it didn’t get done in the center. I took it out too soon, and you can see the results of an undercooked bundt cake. Doug took one look, laughed, and said I better go to the store and buy a pie.

But you know the old saying – “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” I decided to break my half-baked cake into chunks and put it in one of those 8X8 pans I should have used in the first place. I sprinkled white chocolate chips on top and baked it a little longer. The result I called chocolate cobbler, as it looked similar to the dessert Cracker Barrel serves by that name. It had the texture of lava cake, and was delicious served with ice cream. My company was none the wiser; in fact, they were impressed!

There have been other similar disasters. On the Fourth of July, I wanted to make homemade peach ice cream for Sean and Misty who were up for the holiday. Mama and Daddy were coming for the cookout as well. That morning I was cooking the custard for the ice cream on top of the stove, stirring the milk and sugar. Sean called me from down in the basement to come see something on the computer. The custard seemed far from boiling, so I went down for a quick look. It turned out he wanted me to see a video of the chicken farmer singing on America’s Got Talent. It took a while, and of course, I forgot all about the custard. When I remembered, I turned and ran up the stairs and into the kitchen only to see custard boiling over all across my smooth-topped stove, where it burned into hard lava rock. I threw it out, sent Sean to find more evaporated milk at the store down the road, and started over. The rest of the day was spent scraping lava rock off my stovetop, which, thankfully, was not ruined.

These kind of disasters and the fact that I really don’t like to sew are why I avoid telling people I was a home economics major. People would expect better.