I’ve heard that March is the official Passive Aggressive Month. I’m not really passive or aggressive (this already sounds like I have identity issues…) but I thought I’d take a moment to be passive aggressively grateful.
I’m not super good at saying ‘thank you’ in person. Maybe because I talk so much I feel like no one can ever tell when I’m being genuine and when I’m just on auto-pilot. Me and my motor-mouth.
So instead, here is my passive aggressive ‘thank you’ note to my ‘Housemates’ (who shall remain nameless because, how else could this be passive aggressive?).
Thank you for you killing all the spiders. This needs to be mentioned first because it’s the most important.
Thank you for reminding me when I need to do laundry (and for doing it nicely instead of just being like, “Gosh, is that you or the compost pile that smells so bad?”). Not because I actually end up doing it when you remind me but because it makes me feel like you might also remind that parachute pants aren’t in style anymore if I tried to leave the house looking like Kevin Bacon. I appreciate that.
Thank you for not complaining when I eat the tops off all the pies, crumbles and crusty casseroles that come through our house. I know that must take some self-restraint.
Thank you for saving me part of the eggs every time you make them in the mornings. I like eggs. Yours are especially good.
Thank you for instilling in me an intense obsession with Tim Tebow. He WILL write to us one day, won’t he? WON’T YOU, TIM TEBOW?
Thank you for laughing at my jokes. I know they’re not funny, too.
Thank you for not going all Liberal Left on the nuclear waste in my bedroom. Eventually I’ll get a team in there to take care of that. Promise.
Thank you for letting me sing all the time. I don’t know when I picked up that habit or when it will stop. Probably not until the stairwell stops making my B flats sound like auto-tuned Taylor Swift. Gotta love a good echo.
Thank you for letting me practice my accordion. I don’t need to expound.
Thank you for putting up with my mini-meltdowns. Like when I’m hungry and just keep opening and closing the fridge door, moaning like a wounded bear. Or when I stamp my feet and flail around like a toddler because I can’t handle how cold it gets here. Or when I stare dejectedly out the window, ignoring all life around me, and mutter things like, “I miss tacos.”
Thank you for letting me bake. People of lesser faith would not leave me alone in the kitchen for such long periods.
Thank you very, very much for everything else. I see it, feel it and appreciate it.
I was deliriously exhausted after a weekend-long illness and decided to make pineapple upside down cake. Because, of course.
Jared lent emotional support and read all the Czech labels for me. What a friend.
Here is the actual recipe because only part of the dribble I managed to scrape into a cake made it into the footage.
PINEAPPLE UPSIDE DOWN CAKE:
1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 (15 ounce) can pineapple chunks, drained
2 tablespoons chopped pecans(optional)
1 1/2 cups biscuit baking mix
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Preheat an oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
Melt butter in a 9-inch baking pan in the preheating oven. Remove pan.
Sprinkle brown sugar evenly over butter.
Arrange pineapple chunks in a single layer over the butter and brown sugar, then sprinkle with pecans; set aside.
Beat biscuit baking mix, white sugar, milk, vegetable oil, vanilla extract, and egg together in a large bowl on low speed for 30 seconds, scraping bowl constantly.
Increase mixer speed to medium and continue beating until batter is smooth, about 4 minutes more.
Slowly pour batter over the pineapple mixture.
Bake in the preheated oven until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes.
Run a paring knife between the cake and the edge of the pan to loosen cake. Cover the cake pan with a plate, and invert it to flip the cake out of the pan and onto the plate. Cool at least 10 minutes before serving.
I spend an absurd amount of time looking at recipe blogs. I’m not sure if it’s because it makes me feel vicariously like a perfect little homemaker or because reading the voices of no-nonsense women working in the kitchen feels a lot like getting a huge hug from an ‘Aunt Jemima’ figure. The soul needs what it needs.
Anyway, because my cooking skills are nuclear (we’re talking Three Mile Island), and because I recently just spent a week on a single baking project, I decided to do a recipe blog parody.
Enjoy, my friends. Let your heart drink it up.
Last week a woman at school gave me a jar of dough in a plastic baggy with a recipe attached. After awkwardly transporting the jar home in my purse (if I had a dime for every time I got on a bus with something completely random in my bag…), I read the brief message on the recipe. This bread takes a week to make and must be given to a friend who has not made the bread before. Already, it feels like a cult initiation, but I never say ‘no’ to baking.
Monday: 250 g of sugar – do not mix
I was so excited about getting the dough I nearly forgot the first step Monday night. Do not forget the first step. The dough in the jar is only a starter and the yeast needs to start eating the sugar right away!
In case you’re wondering what the grams to cups conversion is, I have no idea. In fact, I faked it for the whole week and the bread turned out just fine. I like to think of measurements more as guidelines.