We’re barely into our second week of quarantine and I’m worried. Very worried. So worried, in fact, that my mouth is constantly watering, my tummy is doing somersaults, and my hands are shaking.
You see, I have a serious problem. Deep inside my mouth are approximately 32 teeth, and all of them are sweet tooths (for once in my editing life I don’t know or care if this is the incorrect spelling; sweet teeth sounds stupid). Now, maybe that wouldn’t be an issue for some folks but for someone who finds comfort, peace, and joy in baking?! It’s a complete and utter disaster, people.
Within the past week-and a-half, the only time my husband and I removed our rather voluptuous behinds from the kitchen was when we were working. Granted, most of our time spent there revolved around the ravenous beasts we call our children. But we did (and do) occasionally get to pamper ourselves, too. And that’s where I found myself 10 days ago, giddy and dancing a little jig. I began our weeks-long dessert fest by cranking out a flaky, juicy, buttery, cinnamony, scrumptious apple pie. Ahhhhhh, every morsel of that blissful beauty that I placed oh so gently into my mouth sent shivers down my spine and hit every sweet spot along my body. I can’t remember the last time I tasted something so exquisite. It was simply heaven on earth—the best apple pie I’ve ever made. And that’s saying something because I don’t really even Iike apple pie. But I am a ginormous pie fiend and the pie gods have been harassing me to whip something up and shut this craving down. Plus, I had a bag of apples sitting in my fridge for I don’t know how long and little old me couldn’t let them go to waste, now could I? You may be thinking: Why not just eat the apples? To which I reply: How dare you. Just go ahead and take yourself off my blog page if that’s what you’re thinking. Go ahead, do it. Leave. Now. Your face is unacceptable.
Anyways, next in our lineup of delectable “let’s put all your weight back on” treats were fudge bars. I must admit, though, these were in my freezer, left over from my Christmas Cookie Extravaganza back in December. Here’s the rationale for this one (you ready?): We figured it didn’t make sense to bake something new since we have so many different desserts nestled within our freezer. I mean, it’s essential that we eat through our precious sweet stock of goodies before they become freezer-burned, right? Wouldn’t want that to happen! How wasteful of us! Not to mention that we’d be doing a serious disservice to the make-ahead meals (soups, meatballs and sauce, etc.) that are screaming for space amongst the litany of baked goods in our freezer. We simply must eat these frozen beauties to make room for the “healthy” stuff, am I right? Yes, thank you, that is the correct answer. And so, a hulking square of soft, moist, fudgy, nutty fudge bars found itself on our kitchen counter, just waiting to be devoured that night while we relaxed on our sofa watching show (in this case, Outlander, one of our faves!!). There’s just something about snacking on naughty things after your kids have gone to bed—especially now that we’re housebound. It’s just so … naughty. And I love it!
Alright, let’s back up for a minute. A few weeks before this quarantine began, we purchased an Instant Pot and an accompanying recipe book. This thing is the greatest invention. It whips up meals in 30 minutes or less, so we had been spending every free minute using it to load up our freezer—you know, for the approaching zombie apocalypse. We hadn’t tried any desserts yet, though, and my husband had a persistent hankering for rice pudding (hello, carbs, come join the ride on my saddlebags!). He literally couldn’t stop talking about this rice pudding. At first he tried to pawn it off on the kids by asking “Do you think the kids would enjoy rice pudding?” Come on, buddy, I got your number. Ain’t none of this about the kids—this is all you and your craving for rice pudding!!! 🤣
He hemmed and hawed about it for a while, and then he decided that the best time to acquiesce was after we had already defrosted the fudge bars. Damn! Now we had fudgy fudge bars and sticky, vanilla-y rice pudding staring us straight in the face from the dark corner where all baked goods go. Awesome sauce. So, what did we do? We did what any self-respecting connoisseur of baked goods would do: for the next few nights my husband ate the towering mound of rice pudding and I ate the hulking brick of fudge bars. Hey, at least we didn’t eat both, right?! And, again, no waste!
This most definitely should have taken care of our sweet tooths, right? Wrong. They satisfied us for a few days, but then the pie gods struck again. Yep, it turns out America’s classic did not erase my pie cravings. It merely put them to simmer on the back burner while I took care of my sweet tooths for fudge bars. Just as that simmer turned to a raging boil, my sister-in-law left a bag of 6,483 lemons on our front porch (social distancing and all that) and here we go again with my desperate need not to be wasteful (you buying that excuse yet?). I’m telling you the pie gods absolutely want me to satisfy my indulgences during these trying times and in my desperate moments of need. It didn’t matter that I was missing one of the key ingredients for the lemon pie filling. Nope. I ain’t no novice, I’m an improviser. I don’t watch Chopped on the Food Network for nothin! I simply combined three recipes into one gorgeous goddess of a pie! And so it was that a sweet, creamy, lemony concoction joined the ranks of our baked goods army—as the General.
I should probably mention here that these confectionary delicacies aren’t even the worst of it. My husband is a bread-baking machine and while all these other baking shenanigans were going on, he cranked out approximately six different loaves in the space of a week. At this point, we might as well throw out the scale that’s taking up residence on the floor of our master bath. We’re just gonna end up breaking it anyways when it’s time for our weekly (self-inflicted) weigh-in on Saturday, which we may skip now that I’m thinking about it. Yeah, we’ll skip. No need to put ourselves through that. We should be soothing and consoling ourselves in these dire times, not stepping on the scale and giving ourselves another reason to indulge in unsupervised and unsafe activities—you know, like devouring baked goods and wine. Oh, the wiiiiiiiiiiiiiineeeeeeee. Don’t even get me started on the wine. I’ve so far managed to put a cap on that shiznit by enforcing a rule that we do not consume wine during the week. Only on the weekends. And yes, Friday is a weekend. How dare you.
OK, back to the baked goods … by now you’re probably thinking that we’ve reached a plateau. That by some miracle our bodies (and brains) are satiated with all things sugar. Well, I regret to inform you that this is not the case. But wait, wait, we have a good reason (don’t pretend our aforementioned reasonings weren’t valid—how dare you)! Today is my husband’s birthday and it must, MUST be written somewhere that you cannot have a birthday without a birthday cake. It IS written somewhere, dammit! So, later this morning I will be whipping up a husband-requested banana cake with cream cheese frosting. Holy shitake mushroom sauce does that sound like heaven! Come on, admit it. You want it, too. Even the most ardent idiot, er, I mean health nut wouldn’t be able to resist that scrumptious succulent. No way, no how. What, you could resist that? How dare you. Get off my page. Go!!!
Phew, even my sweet tooths are quivering right now. But it’s OK. All will be OK. In all seriousness, this is a really hard time for everyone. As you’ve been reading, I’m doing my best to stay positive and find the silver linings and write the “good.” (What’s better than pie?!) I mentioned in a post on Monday that I’m keeping a gratitude journal and my positive writings have made the list each and every morning. I simply cannot cope with my anxieties and stresses any other way. That and baking are my things, my coping mechanisms. And if that means baking every week (or more often), then so be it. My family needs me to be in a healthy place mentally, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get us through this, positively and sanely. Sure, I may put weight back on, but so what? What’s a little weight when people are sick and dying and alone out there? Life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.
And it’s definitely too short to not eat pie.