I dedicated today to baking all the goodies we need to send in our Christmas care packages to Larry's relatives. What? Where are all the goodies we baked last week? Oh, yeah, those....well, we weren't quite prepared last week...by the time we procured all the cute little tins and boxes to pack the sweets in, well.....they were all gone, okay? The lemon bars, the peanut butter cookies, most of the fudge was no more. I am one person who takes my holiday weight gain quotas seriously.
So this time I planned it right. Boxes at the ready, I decided to just whip right through all the baking in one day and get those babies out of here. By the time I was done, I was seeing double from sugar overload. I'm not trying a baking marathon like that again without a medic standing by to administer insulin as needed. And a pox on outdated cookbooks. The lemon bars recipe called for "granulated sugar," as in what everyone else in this day and age calls just "sugar." As in, not confectioner's sugar, which really didn't work well at all.
The fudge did its part by refusing to set properly. As I couldn't cut it into discrete squares, I settled for packing it in one big lump per recipient. I nestled the lumps in white tissue to give them a more festive look, but....honestly? They resemble nothing so much as wads of poop wrapped in toilet paper (in decorative tins). Theo suggested that instead we put each lump in one of those plastic pooper-scooper bags (provided free at the local dog park) and tie the bags with ribbon. You know, to make a good gag gift. Get it? Gag? We laughed ourselves silly. (Hey, even Anna smiled at that one.)
I am sick of sweets, but I still have to bake the #%$&* (sp?) cranberry bread for the party tomorrow night. And mail off those wads of poop, I mean fudge. Before someone around here eats them. Yum.