Brian Francis's Blog, page 7

Daisy Cut-Up Cake

Some time ago, I was on CBC Radio’s The Next Chapter, predicting that cut-up party cakes were due for a huge comeback. Cut-up cakes, for anyone born past 1980, were popular in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Basically, you take a cake, cut it up into different pieces and assemble those pieces to create something new. Like a turkey. Doesn’t that sound appetizing? 

Here’s my Cut-Up Cake Party Book. People were happier in the 70s, as you can tell.

Well, it’s a been a couple of years now and I haven’t seen any shows on The Food Network called “Cut-Up Cake Wars” so it seems that the rest of the world still needs to catch on to my visionary insights. In the meantime, I’m soldiering on. 

Recently, we celebrated Canada Day here in Canada. Traditionally, Canada Day is a time for people to gather around a BBQ, listen to Anne Murray songs and argue about whether raisins belong in butter tarts. It seemed like an appropriate occasion to make the Daisy Cake as featured in my Cut-Up Cake Party Book. 

Here are the instructions and what it’s supposed to look like.

If you’ve never made a cut-up cake before, they can be a little challenging. But since everything gets coated in shredded coconut, you can hide a lot of sins. (If only it was acceptable to wear shredded coconut on your face.)

If you’re going to make a cut-up cake, you need to make the cake from scratch. That shit has to be dense in order to cut it into the small pieces required. Duncan Hines will not do it, friends.

My canvas.

I used the Happy Day cake recipe from my book, although I replaced the shortening with butter. 

The recipe.

My friend’s wife is a dietician and I once asked her what the worst food was. She said shortening, which surprised me. I was sure she was going to say fennel.

This part was easy.

A word of caution: The book tells you to use an electric beater (hello, 1973!) but the cake batter is very thick and my beater started to smoke and smell funny. I think the fumes affected my brain, as the next thing I knew, I was lying on my back on the kitchen floor. This wasn’t the first time this has happened, only this time, wine spritzers weren’t involved. 

This part wasn’t.

Another word of caution: Cut-up cakes require focus and attention so I wouldn’t recommend making them if you’re easily hey did Anne Murray ever win a Juno? 

To frost the cake, I made Seven Minute Frosting, which calls for egg whites, sugar, corn syrup and other wholesome ingredients. I personally love Seven Minute Frosting as it’s very marshmallow-y. You can also use it to patch nail holes in your wall. 

Extreme beater close up.

Now that the pieces are cut and assembled, lay out everything before frosting. And be sure to put little strips of waxed paper under the pieces so you don’t get frosting everywhere. If you make the Daisy Cake, note that it’s a big frickin cake. The base I used was 27” long x 19” wide!

We’re ready to roll! And, uh, frost.

Once you have everything frosted, sprinkle the shit out of everything with coconut.

Now you can see why you need the coconut. #hotmess

The Daisy Cut-Up Cake calls for crushed pineapple to make the centre dot a brilliant yellow. I thought this was genius. And I never pass up the opportunity to use a can opener.

This can had a pull-back lid. These are modern times.

And here is my floral masterpiece! 

I had to stand on a chair to take this photo. That’s how big this mother is.

I lovingly placed each coconut shred by hand.

I recommend that, as you cut the petals, you repeat, “He loves my cake. He loves it not. He loves my cake. He loves it not.” It will give the guests something to talk about on the car ride home.

“I mean, it was weird, Harold. The way he kept saying ‘he loves me’ as he sliced the cake. Disturbing.”

I hope this Daisy Cake has inspired you to make your own cut-up cake. One of these days. Hopefully. Maybe.

He loves me!

Interested in seeing the other cut-up cake creations I’ve made to date? Get ready to see some serious cake artistry. Check out my witch, my Santa Claus and my plane. The plane was the hardest. Don’t make that one. Seriously. 

DIY Coffee Sleeve

Recently, I was on CBC Radio’s The Next Chapter, talking to host Shelagh Rogers about survival. Bears, earthquakes, the Costco parking lot – we covered a lot a ground.

Surviving public transportation is another hurdle that many of us face. Especially if we’re on a crowded bus or subway and carrying our morning coffee in hand. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve witnessed the carnage of a dropped coffee cup on the floor of a bus. There’s no worse way to start your day than with coffee-stained white pumps.

So I invented what I call the Coffee Survival Sleeve. It’s attractive, low-cost and a great way to express your inner artist. Just follow my simple instructions and you’ll be laughing your commute away. 

1) Steal – I mean, ask – if you can take a cardboard sleeve from a coffee shop.

2) Take some attractive fabric and glue it to the sleeve, trimming the excess.

3) Hot glue a line of Velcro buttons to your sleeve.

4) Steal – I mean, purchase – a glove and hot glue the opposing Velcro buttons along the glove.

5) Slip your sleeve on your coffee cup, then slip on your glove and voila! Not only will you never drop a coffee cup again but you’ll also be the most fashionable person on your bus route!

Don’t shy away from bedazzling your Coffee Survival Sleeve in whatever way you like. This is your time to say to the world, and your fellow commuters, “Hey! I’m a fricking Michael Angelo!”

Listen here to my full The Next Chapter interview. 

Q & A with Salini Perera

For authors, book covers can be a wee bit stressful. It’s one aspect of your work that you don’t control and you’re relying on someone, usually a designer and sometimes an illustrator, to visually convey something that took you 70,000 words. Give or take.

Add to that the input of your publisher, bookstores, readers, etc., and you can be left wondering how much people really do judge a book by its cover.

Lucky for me that my editor, Suzanne Sutherland, approached illustrator Salini Perera to create the cover visual for my upcoming book, Break in Case of Emergency. Salini is a multitalented artist who covers a lot of ground. From ceramics to window displays, she has a distinct, playful style that comes shining through. 

Here are some of her early renderings for my book’s cover.

Not only did Salini create a fantastic illustration for my book, she also incorporated key elements from the book into her work. What more could a writer ask for? 

I checked in with Salini to talk a bit about her process, her work and, of course, pie crusts. 

BF: As an author, seeing how someone visually interprets your work is always an interesting experience. How stressful is it for you to capture a book in a single illustration? And how do you start that process?

SP: It can be a little daunting at the outset. I had an opportunity to read your book early on in the process (which I loved!). Working from compelling source material makes my job that much easier. To begin with, I might highlight passages or jot down visuals (sometimes objects or particular moments in the story that jump out at me) and start generating thumbnail sketches. It’s also very much a group effort. As an illustrator, you work very closely with art directors and editors. I got a lot of great guidance and feedback from the team at HarperCollins.

BF: You’re pretty versatile in terms of your illustration: Editorial, digital, ceramics, window displays. How important is that versatility for illustrators working today?

SP: I’ve always collected hobbies; I love to work with my hands and learn new techniques. Necessity is often the mother of versatility. It’s been very useful for me, if only to keep me from getting bored by being boxed in to one style/medium. 

BF: Writers sometimes struggle to find words to express things that are important to them. What are you trying to express through your illustrations?

 SP: Whenever I make a card for a loved one, I’ll spend a lot of time drawing or painting it and never know what to write inside. Expressing myself has always come easier when drawing. I tend to agonize over any kind of written assignment, even sending emails, and I put them off as much as possible. I think my artwork is more eloquent than I am. 

BF: I learned from your website that you’re not a fan of the Dufferin Bus. What’s up with that?  

SP: I live in the East end, and don’t often have to ride the Dufferin Bus, but every time I do it is a horror show.

BF: Maybe we need to collaborate on a horror graphic novel called Riding the Dufferin Bus. I also learned that you’re a pie baker. Any tips you can share for a flaky crust?

SP: I only use butter for crust. I don’t mess with shortening. Also, don’t over-mix and keep your dough cold. 

As a guy who’s made a few pies in my day, I can vouch for the buttah. Don’t screw with the shortening, folks. Thanks to Salini for taking the time to answer my questions. Check out her website and her Instagram account.

Snickers Salad

It’s a salad! Made with Snickers!

Say the word “salad,” and most people think carrots, iceberg lettuce and, if they’re having company over, croutons. But for many people – specifically cakers – the word “salad” covers a vast culinary landscape; a landscape not always conducive to growing vegetables. 

I grew up eating Pistachio Salad, Ambrosia Salad and other sophisticated side dishes. What defined these as “salads” seemed to be whether or not there was Cool Whip involved. For my family, Cool Whip was a miraculous binding agent, bringing together unlikely ingredients and marrying them to make a symphony of flavour. Pro tip: Cool Whip also makes an excellent moisturizer. You can also use it to silence squeaky door hinges. 

Never in the history of publishing has a magazine screamed my name more.

I’ve seen recipes for Snickers Salad before, but never made it. When I recently picked up a copy of Taste of Home’s Church Potluck magazine and saw the recipe, I figured it was high time. 

Look at all these fresh salad ingredients!

Snickers Salad contains apples, pudding mix, Cool Whip and Twix Bars. LOL! Just kidding. It contains Snickers Bars. And while some people may feel that anything with Snickers should never be categorized as a “salad,” need I remind you there are apples in this? Hello?!?

This Snickers bar read “Indecisive.” I couldn’t decide what that meant.

1 ½ cups cold 2% milk

1 pkg. (3.4 oz.) instant vanilla pudding mix

1 carton (8 oz.) frozen whipped topping, thawed (see note)

4 large apples, chopped (about 6 cups)

4 Snickers candy bars, cut into ½-in. pieces

I will neither confirm nor deny all of these pieces actually made it into the salad.

In bowl, whisk milk and vanilla pudding mix for 2 minutes. Let stand until soft-set, about 2 minutes. Fold in whipped topping. Fold in chopped apples and Snickers. Refrigerate salad until serving.

Here’s what an unfocused photo looks like.

I brought this to my Italian mother-in-law’s for Mother’s Day. It’s always a bit dicey getting her to try one of my dishes. She usually looks disturbed when I tell her what’s in it. 

What did she think of my Snickers Salad? It was a bonefide hit! She even went back for a second serving – something she never does. 

In terms of overall feedback, tasters felt there were too few Snickers pieces and too many apple pieces. There I was, in front of a bunch of Italians, defending a salad for having too few Snickers pieces. The irony was not lost on me, folks. 

Do you see any Snickers pieces in here? The Italians sure didn’t.

If you make this – and you should – you might want to add another Snickers bar, or two, to keep everyone happy. Besides, it’s a salad. That means all the ingredients are healthy. 

Note: My Snickers Salad looked decidedly creamier than the magazine photo, so I’m not sure if I used too much Cool Whip. Not like that’s a bad thing.

Dollar Store Chocolate Bar Taste Test

Who isn’t trying to cut corners these days? But should the line be drawn with chocolate? I picked up six brand name chocolate bars and paired them against their dollar store equivalents. I conducted a blind taste test and enlisted the services of a second taste tester, so you’ll get more than just my opinion. Even though mine is the most important. Obviously.  

So how did the dollar store bars stack up? 

Meteor vs. Mars

The difference in size is pretty obvious, as you get two Meteor bars for half the price of one Mars Bar. But if you prefer girth to length, Mars is your man. In terms of the knockoff name, I get Meteor, but why not something more appetizing? Like Uranus?  

Meteor on the left, Mars on the right.

Tasting notes: Meteor didn’t have much flavour, although there was a satisfying caramel ribbon. I also detected a slight cardboard aftertaste. Mars was richer, fresher and definitely had more flavour in terms of chocolate and caramel. Size isn’t everything, folks. 

Verdict: Sorry, Meteor, but looks like you’ve crashed.

Island Bar vs. Bounty

Call me a child of the ‘70s, but every time I taste coconut, I think of Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil. I’m ruined, I tell you. Ruined. In terms of the difference between these two bars, well, you tell me. 

Island Bar on the left, Bounty on the right.

Tasting notes: I actually preferred Island Bar over Bounty. I thought the chocolate flavour came through more. Or maybe I was just focusing on it to get over the Hawaiian Tropic thing. My taste tester preferred Bounty. It should be noted that both brands left annoying little bits of coconut in our teeth. 

Verdict: A tie, but with its cheaper price, you might want to head to the island. 

4fun vs. Kit Kat Chunky

I have to say that 4fun doesn’t seem like the most inspired name for a chocolate bar. Plus, is that a wave of milk it’s riding on the wrapper? Still, if you’re two for a buck, I guess you can point your arrow a little low.

4fun on the left, Kit Kat Chunky on the right.

Tasting notes: As you can see, Kit Kat Chunky’s layers were better defined. But how important is that to taste? Turns out, there wasn’t much difference between the two bars, although 4fun was noted as being “waxier” and not as fresh as the Kit Kat Chunky. There was also a subtle hazelnut flavour in the 4fun, but Kit Kat Chunky was the preferred bar.

Verdict: A close call, but the Kat’s in the bag. 

Titan vs. Snickers

Titan promises to “conquer your hunger,” and, with two bars in the pack, hopefully it does. For at least 20 minutes or so. In terms of its name, I think Titan was the god of chocolate in Roman mythology. But Titan would need to summon all of his super powers to compete with a classic like Snickers. So how did Titan compare?

Titan on the left, Snickers on the right.

Tasting notes: I didn’t think you could come close to the perfection of a Snickers. And you can’t. In terms of taste, Snickers was the hands-down winner, a perfect marriage of salty nuts and sweet chocolate. Titan’s nuts tasted pretty old and had no doubt seen better days. The worst part? Old nuts always leave a lingering taste in your mouth.

Verdict: Time to turn in the toga, Titan. 

Luppo vs. 3 Musketeers

I often pick up a 3 Musketeers if I’m feeling guilty about eating a chocolate bar but not guilty enough to not eat a chocolate bar. 3 Musketeers bills itself as having 45% less fat than other leading chocolate bars. So it’s healthy. Sorta. Luppo, by the way, has 12 grams of fat to 3 Musketeers’ 7 grams.

Luppo on the left, 3 Musketeers on the right.

Tasting notes: This taste test drew the strongest reaction. My taste tester spit out his Luppo. “It’s dry!” he said. “Disgusting!” My reaction wasn’t so over-the-top (even bad chocolate is still chocolate in my books), but I agreed that Luppo wasn’t very good. It was like if you mixed sawdust and chocolate together. Which, you know, is still chocolate, so…

Verdict: Three cheers for 3 Musketeers.

Duoletta vs. Bueno

My Bueno, made by Kinder, came with no toy, so I was a little pissed. But it should be noted that the twin bars in each package came individually wrapped in cellophane which made me feel classy and that I should be wearing white gloves and a floppy straw hat.

Duoletta on the left, Bueno on the right.

Tasting notes: My taste tester found Duoletta to be more flavourful and crispier than Bueno. I, on the other hand, preferred the creamy hazelnut flavour of Bueno. It should be noted that my taste tester said both Duoletta and Bueno left him with the sensation of something in the back of his throat. “Yeah, that’s called an uvula,” I said. 

Winner: A cellophane wrapped tie.

And that’s a wrap! So, no real surprises, although a couple of the dollar store bars came close enough to provide some serious competition. I encourage you to do your own chocolate bar taste test. And if you’re not sure what do with the leftovers, here’s a recipe for Mars Bars I once featured on my Caker Cooking blog. These kick regular Rice Krispies Squares’ ass to the curb IMHO. Experiment with any chocolate bar. Except for Luppo.

Melt 4 Mars bars and a 1/3 cup of butter in a double boiler or microwave. Add 3 cups Rice Krispies. Press into a buttered 8” x 8” pan. Melt a bag of milk chocolate chips, spread over top, let cool and voila! You’ll be the hit of your next bake sale.

Thanks for joining me on this fascinating journey. If you want more chocolate taste tests, check out my review of New York City chawklit, and my round-ups of Irish and British choclit.  

Battle of the Snack Crackers

Let’s face it – snack crackers don’t always get the recognition they deserve. Think about all the times snack crackers have been there for you. While you’re microwaving your dinner. When you come home after too many wine spritzers. When you need to preoccupy your mouth during awkward office parties. Without snack crackers, you’d have to eat hot crab dip with your fingers, which is not only unsanitary, but could also lead to severe burns. 

On a recent shopping trip to No Frills, I noticed Christie snack crackers were on sale for only two bucks a box. So I bought seven different kinds to taste test and rank. I didn’t buy Triscuits or Ritz crackers, which already hog too much of the spotlight, IMHO.

I’m sad to report that you won’t see Sour Cream and Chive crackers on this list. Christie doesn’t make them anymore, which is a damn shame. One of my favourite pastimes as a kid was licking off all the seasoning before eating them. I suppose this explains why no one talked to me at recess.

So which snack crackers reigned supreme and which weren’t all they were cracked up to be? Here are my rankings, from worst to best.

Sociables

These crackers wouldn’t leave me alone. Let’s go to the movies. Let’s go dancing. We want to meet people, we spend all of our time in a box, it’s not fair. Blah, blah, blah. I guess what makes these distinct is that they come in different shapes.

I counted five shapes all together, although if you’re Catholic, you should only eat the crucifix-shaped one at Easter. In terms of flavour, Sociables were basically Ritz crackers. If the only thing that makes you unique is your shape, time to get back inside the box. Overall ranking: 7th

Cheese Bits

These were like the mini cheese logs from Bits & Bites (also known as Méli-Mélo on the other side of the bag), which make up the best part of the mix, although some people will go to their graves defending the Shreddies.

I didn’t get a lot of cheese flavour from these Bits, but the shapes made them fun to eat. Warning: don’t stick one up your nostril to see if it fits. Trust me on this one. Overall ranking: 6th

Bacon Dippers

I can’t say I got a real bacon taste but I did get a distinct smokey flavour. Like if someone passed you a cracker over an open flame and the cracker caught on fire and you threw it on the ground and stamped the flame out and then you ate the cracker. That kind of smoke. 

But overall, Bacon Dippers had a pleasing oval shape that reminded me of hallway mirrors. And they had a substantial texture that would hold the densest of French Onion dips. Overall ranking: 5th

Vegetable Thins

Light, crispy, buttery and salty, Vegetable Thins are a staple at any holiday party and come in two distinct shapes, which makes them the Yin and Yang of snack crackers. They just don’t taste like any vegetable I know. Not that I’m an expert.

The flecks of colour broke up the monotony of the beige, though, and eating an entire box gives you 1/16th of a full serving of vegetables. Overall ranking: 4th

Wheat Thins

These snack crackers have always seemed more sophisticated than others. It could be because of the Sandy Duncan endorsement. Or it could be because Wheat Thins don’t rely on cheap gimmicks, like vegetables or cheese. Instead they rely solely on the wholesome goodness of wheat.

Not only that, they have the word “thin” in them, so they’re also a diet food. Don’t feel bad if you eat the whole box. Overall, these were crisp and hearty crackers with a nutty flavour. No wonder Sandy liked them. Overall ranking: 3rd

Cheese Nips

These packed a more intense cheese flavour than Cheese Bits. Maybe because they’re thinner so there’s less air to compete with the cheese. In terms of the shape, the squares were a bit on the small side, so I had to cram seven or eight in at one time.

I appreciated the forked effect on the edges, which gave them a church basement chicken pot pie crust feel. The navel in the centre was a little disturbing, though. They also made my fingers greasy so it was hard typingasll 0asdfj000000=)))’asd fak;nasdf…..**alda’fd as’dl Overall ranking: 2nd

And coming in at Number One…

Swiss Cheese Crackers

These crackers are shaped like real pieces of Swiss cheese! They even have holes! Some of the holes weren’t punched all the way through, which was disappointing, because I couldn’t look out through them.

Out of all the crackers I tried, these were by far the best. The Swiss cheese taste comes through loud and clear, they’re salty, but not too salty, and the texture is perfectly crisp. The only thing missing was a view of the Alps. Overall ranking: 1st

And there you go, friends. I hope this post makes you appreciate the snack crackers in your life a little more. May you always have a box within reach to get you through the tough times. Or until the microwave dings.

Clothespin Wishing Wells

Recently, I was on CBC Radio’s The Next Chapter, chatting with host Shelagh Rogers about entrepreneurship. I never considered myself as the entrepreneur type, but the discussion got me thinking. The only thing standing between me and millions of dollars is one good idea. So why not give it a shot?

I’m obviously a talented craftsperson – and who doesn’t love a good craft? But deciding on my million-dollar idea took some time. It was hard to decide which craft idea would be the clear winner, especially when your portfolio is as expansive as mine.

Apple head dolls? Sure, but they take too long to dry.

Cut-Up Cakes? Maybe, but they involve a lot of hand-eye coordination.

Fuck Cookies? My mom would never approve.

Then I thought, “What about clothespin wishing wells?”

I used to make them as gifts for my teachers. They were much more personal than a bottle of Baby Duck, although I’m sure most of my teachers would’ve appreciated the alcohol.

Best of all? Clothespin wishing wells are a synch to make – and dirt cheap. Alls you need are some baby food jars, glue, clothespins and maybe some paint. (Liquid Paper is fine.) A babbling brook helps, too, but those can be hard to come by.

A warning: If you don’t have a baby, you’ll have to eat the baby food to get the jar. This can be stressful, depending on your palate. I don’t recommend the chicken and broth variety. The custard one isn’t bad. And remember to thoroughly clean out the baby food jar, unless you want your wishing well to smell like a real one.

Clothespin wishing wells are ideal for people who don’t have the yard space for a real wishing well. Or can’t afford stones. They’re perfect for storing change, paper clips or bits of lint from your pockets. If you’re giving one as a gift, insert a sprig of baby’s breath for a touch of elegance. And what’s stopping you from adding a coffee creamer cup as a bucket? The possibilities are endless, friends.

You can listen to my radio interview here. In the meantime, I’m going to contact Dragon’s Den. I’m about to make Arlene Dickinson’s “wishes” come true!

My Gingerbread House Nightmare

Yep, I made this. How could something so pretty go so wrong?

Every Christmas, I take on an ambitious baking project. I tell myself I enjoy doing it, but, by the end of the project, I always wonder if I have some sadomasochist need. This year, I decided to make a gingerbread house. I did my research, signed out three books from the library on the subject, read up on templates and dough recipes and decorating options, and hunkered in to make one. What at first seemed like a wholesome idea quickly spiralled into a nightmare. If you learn one lesson in life, let it be this one: never, under any circumstances, make a gingerbread house. Here’s why:

1)    You won’t have time.

Making a house might seem relatively straightforward at first. You’ll make some dough, cut it out, bake it, stick everything together with gobs of royal icing, toss some jujubes on the roof and voila – you’ll be the hit of the party. But making a house is more complicated than that. AND YOU DO NOT HAVE THE TIME. Especially during the already-hectic holiday season. “But I’m an organized person,” you’ll say. “I’ll create a timeline. I enjoy challenging projects. I’ve watched instructional YouTube videos.” YOU WILL NOT HAVE THE TIME. Instead, you’ll find yourself melting Jolly Ranchers for your stained-glass windows at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning because in two days your house needs to be ready. THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH TIME TO MAKE A GINGERBREAD HOUSE. Unless you’re retired. Or an insomniac. Or have no semblance of a life.

This owl was wise. I was not.

2)    You’ll put your marriage at risk.

Early on, you’ll decide that you need help. While you’re extremely talented (Hello??!You’re making a gingerbread house with a friggin’ vestibule!), you’re not very good with fine detail stuff. So you’ll pitch this as a “couples” thing to your husband. “It’ll be so much fun,” you’ll tell him. “And a great way for us to reconnect.” (You’ll make sure you have puppy dog eyes when you say this and a slight pout.) But he won’t buy it. “Don’t try and turn yourideas in ourideas,” he’ll say, completely ignoring your cute face. (Apparently, this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to rope him into one of your projects. Whatever.) In any case, you’ll laugh dismissively in response and hand him a paintbrush for dusting edible powder on your maraschino cherry shutters. He’ll do it, reluctantly, until you criticize his powdering skills. “What are you trying to do?” you’ll ask. “Make it look like the house is covered in cocaine?” Soon, your husband’s resentment will grow. “Are you still working on that damn house?” he’ll ask whenever he walks into the kitchen. You’ll remind him this is a complicated project. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know. I just want to make it nice for everyone.” You’ll ask if he can arrange the cookies on the roof because he’s better with symmetry than you are. “If I had a stick of dynamite,” he’ll reply. “I’d jam it into this fucking house and blow it up.”

3)    You’ll question your motives.

You’ll tell yourself that is a project just for you, a chance to explore your creativity and marvel at what you can accomplish with royal icing and some thoughtfully placed spearmint gummy trees. But soon after you start your gingerbread creation, you’ll begin thinking about the Instagram post. This is going to amaze your followers. All 146 of them. Would a video or stills be better? If you photograph it at night, people will get the full effect of the interior lights. But then you risk losing some of the design details. Will people still be able to make out Hansel and Gretel at the entrance? These are important considerations. Maybe a night shot and a day shot. Would it be appropriate to also post on Twitter or would that seem like you’re trying too hard? Twitter’s always a tough call. You might only get three likes. And that would be devastating. Especially after all the time it took to attach the hickory smoked almonds one-by-one onto the roof dormers. But remember! This is a project just for you. So why are you even considering posting it? Hmm. Maybe a video AND stills for the Instagram post. Now to figure out the best time of day to post it…

If Hansel and Gretel could talk, they’d say, “You in danger, girl.”

4)    No one will eat it.

You’ll pack up the gingerbread house (wrapped in cellophane and a jaunty bow), put it in the trunk of your car and drive two hours to your family Christmas gathering with the intention of everyone eating it. After all, that’s why you made it. And there’s no way you’re hauling the stupid thing back home — you’ve already promised your husband. But when they see it, your family will think this is the Sistine Chapel of gingerbread. Your mother will marvel where you got your talent from. (Certainly not from her, all she could ever make was Hello Dollies, for heaven’s sake!) Your family will take pictures, but no one will touch it. “Please,” you’ll say. “Take a cookie.” Your hand will reach out to grab one from the roof and your mother will scream “Don’t you dare!” Someone will suggest that your mother should take it back to her retirement residence for the other seniors to admire. She’ll think this is a wonderful idea, realizing it will give her another opportunity to gloat about her talented, albeit homosexual, son. Which is totally the last reason you’d ever make a gingerbread house. You’ll remind her that the gingerbread is hard. It’s not good for dentures. “All the seniors will be able to do is suck on bits and pieces,” you’ll point out. But she’ll remind you that no one will eat it. They’ll just want to gaze upon it and celebrate her success as your mother. Reluctantly, you’ll agree to bring it over the next morning. Because the other option is to bring it home. From his spot on the couch, your husband will shoot you a look that makes you urinate a couple of drops. The next morning, your mother will call you at your hotel and tell you not to bother bringing the house. “I just realized I’d be responsible for throwing it away,” she’ll say. “And I don’t want that burden. Take it back with you, dear.” So you’ll drive back home, your cellophane-wrapped gingerbread demon in the trunk. Your husband will call people, asking if anyone knows a good divorce lawyer.

Okay, so maybe my icing technique wasn’t the best…

5)    You’ll reconsider everything.

Even though you’ll be angry at the house, even though it’s become this cinnamon-scented shit show, you’ll still find yourself wondering what to do with it. You understand that you’ll have to destroy it. It has to be you, after all. You’re the one who unleashed this misery into the world. And isn’t that the burden of all creators? To destroy the fruits of their labours? But you’ll pause to look at the house while you write this and think, “It isa pretty gingerbread house.” You’ll look at the almonds on the roof dormers (you didn’t even know they were called that before you made this house, that’s how educational this process has been), the icicles that aren’t half-bad for an amateur, the way the light shines through those Jolly Ranchers window panes. You’ll feel a swell of solitary pride. You did it. You made a kick-ass gingerbread house. And as you bring the hammer down, you’ll tell yourself you’ll never do something this stupid again. 

Until next year.

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves.” Oscar Wilde

 

Bazaar-o-Rama 2018 Week 4

Well, here it is. The final week of Bazaar-o-Rama 2018. Pass me a tissue, will you? My only comforts are the treasures I found this past weekend. In the immortal words of Liz Taylor: “Better to have bazaared than never to have bazaared at all.” Or did she say better to have “Burtoned?” Anyway, you get the point.

Nut Tree. It’s a fact: People in the ‘70s didn’t eat nuts. Instead, they used them for crafts. Exhibit A: This nut tree. My family had one back in the day. That is, until one day when I got really, really hungry.

I could be wrong, but I think the Santa on top was a later edition, like when old paintings are x-rayed and they discover things like the Mona Lisa was originally wearing a tube top. This was three dollars. Folks, the nuts alone are worth twice that much.

Dishtowel Britches. I didn’t buy these for the tea towels. I bought them for the poetry, In case you can’t read it, here it is: Now don’t get excited, don’t be misled. These aren’t for you, but your dishes instead. Just pull on the bow, take out the stitches, You’ve gained two dish cloths, but lost your britches.” MOVE OVER EMILY DICKINSON. These were $3.50

Glass Dish. The older I get, the more I realize I’m on a mission to re-buy everything from my family home that I once thought was ugly. While not identical to the one we had on our coffee table, this glass dish is pretty close. And it was only three bucks! I’m going to fill it with mint melt-aways. And cigarette butts. 

Heather’s Spritz Cookies. At first, I thought this said “Heather’s Sprite Cookies” so I got pretty excited. I’ve made a Pepsi cake before but cookies made with Sprite? That was a first! Anyway, turns out it’s Spritz, not Sprite. It’s important that everyone knows these are Heather’s cookies. Not Diane’s. Not Claire’s. And certainly not Anne’s, okay? They’re Heather’s. You got that? They were $1.50.

Dork Belt Buckle. What Madonna did with her Boy Toy buckle, I’m going to do with this. Only problem is it’s solid brass and pretty heavy. I just hope I can stand up straight while wearing it. The only way this would be cooler is if it said “dink.” This was 50 cents.

Beaded Ornaments. I paid too much for these. They were a buck a piece. Well, I guess you’re paying for the time that went into making them. I’ll put them on everyone’s Christmas gifts this year. 

Impossible Pie. For those unaware, Impossible Pie is, in fact, possible. It’s called that because you toss a bunch of ingredients into a blender and, as it bakes, a crust, custard and top is formed. I KNOW RIGHT?!? Here’s the recipe. This mini version was pretty tasty and cost 3 dollars.

Hat and Mittens. For those of you who knit, why do you never knit things that are black or grey or navy? Why is everything pink or yellow or lavender? Please, just give a guy a neutral colour. This set came close, so I picked it up. It was priced at $15, but the knitter sold it to me for $10. Bazaars are the only place where they lower the price before you even have your wallet out.

Old Age Pills. My mom’s birthday is coming up so I bought these for her. But I’m taking out the red ones. I need them more than her.

Knit Socks. Last year, I went to a bazaar and (reluctantly) paid $20 for a pair of handmade socks. I ended up really liking them so I went back to the same bazaar this year to get another pair. Only this time, they were even MORE expensive. $25! Anyway, I took out a loan and got a pair. Not everything in life can cost a quarter. Paired with my new brown knit slippers, I look like a Lindt Excellence 90% Cacao Chocolate bar from the mid-calf down. 

Christmas Bitch. All hail the Christmas Bitch! No, she will NOT spend time with your family this holiday season. And whatever you buy her better include a goddamn gift receipt. I paid a dollar for her. We all know she’s worth more than that. Especially her.

And that’s a wrap for 2018! Thank you for joining me on this exciting journey over the past month! It was great knowing both of you were along for the ride. Don’t forget to check out Weeks 1, 2 and 3 for more high-jinks.

Bazaar-o-Rama 2018 Week 3

We’re knee-deep in bazaar season. What did I score on my third weekend out? The only way you’ll find out is to scroll, my friends. Scroll and be amazed.

Santa Papier Mâché Figure. I’ve never seen a Santa figure that also resembles a clown, so I thought this might be worth some money. True, he’s a little creepy, but let’s not forget Santa breaks into houses in the middle of the night. I’m a little concerned this figure might be possessed. It’s a long-standing fear of mine that I’ll bring home a possessed doll from a bazaar. See last year’s corn husk doll.

Also creepy – that crack. I don’t know how much this was. I paid $2 for a basket of ornaments, which included this. Come to think of it, the lady seemed very relieved to get rid of it. Hmmm…

Button Snowman Pin. Is there no limit to the creativity of the human mind? Here’s a great example of someone taking two old buttons and saying, “I see magic here.” I paid 12.5 cents for this because I bought two things for a quarter.

Watch your nipple. I’m speaking from experience.

Wreath. I remember making these decorations as a kid, which is one of the few crafts I wasn’t half-bad at. That and Reader’s Digest Christmas trees. This was a quarter.

You can also use it as a crown for your Christmas Queen.

Santa and Snowman Candle Holders. These will look great on my Christmas table, paired with elegant taper candles. I can almost smell my singed hair as I lean across the table to top up my guests’ Kahlua. I think these were a quarter. Maybe. Things can get a little blurry with all those coins flying around.

Whisky Fudge. I’m athletic (obviously), so I tend to abstain from alcohol. Needless to say, eating three pieces of this whiskey fudge really did a number on me. Apparently, I called into The Shopping Channel and had a “lively” on-air conversation with the Elizabeth Grant sales rep. I have no memory of it, but they’ve asked me to call back. Maybe because I bought $500 worth of anti-wrinkle cream. This was $2.50.

Snowman. Feast your eyes on this little guy! He seems pretty happy that someone brought him home. His googly eyes make him seem a little unfocused, So the two of us are going to get along just fine. This was in the basket that cost two dollars. 

Old Timey Serving Tray. I bought this off a priest who was staffing the table. I wanted to say, “Father, forgive me. But I’ll have to buy this tray.” But I wasn’t sure if he’d find it funny. It’s a fine line with priests. This was one dollar. 

Jamie Farr Glass. Back in the day, you knew you made it in show biz when two things happened. Number 1: You appeared at Stage West Dinner Theatre in Mississauga, Ontario. And number two: Your face was on a glass. This glass is from Stage West (sadly, now closed.) Jamie Farr was the actor who wore dresses on the TV show M*A*S*H.

Here’s a close up so you can see it better. I put paper towel inside the glass so Jamie’s face showed up more. Back in the day, this glass would’ve been filled with the finest champagne. I paid 50 cents. Don’t tell Jamie that. 

That’s a wrap for this week. Come back for a fourth - and final - round up next week! If you haven’t already, check out Week 1 and Week 2. And just a reminder…

He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you’re awake.