Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?
~ Albus Dumbledore
Hello sweet baby angels! (ps- this is how I’ve been greeting myself after a difficult and emotionally exhausting few days. It works remarkably well for self-soothing!)
First of all, I want to thank everyone for the birthday wishes! I feel tremendously loved!
My husband’s birthday was six days after mine, which meant more playing in the water and more shellfish-eating.
In fact, the main difference between my birthday celebration and Jason’s was the dessert. While I was happy to frolic around a floating dock eating an ice cream cone (TWO SCOOPS, BABY!), Jason requested a red velvet cake.
Not only that, he wanted me to bake it myself. Thing is… I don’t bake.
He actually requested this cake for his birthday last year, which I mistakenly took as a joke. Upon realizing this error, I bought him a red velvet cookie. When my dog ate said cookie, I tried to make up for this by baking red velvet cupcakes for our anniversary… three months later.
For some reason, they came out more like muffins? God, I love muffins.
I have nothing against baking, but anything more advanced than granola or basic cookies gets me in a tizzy.
My main problem is measuring ingredients and following instructions. I’m not too fond of these things, strongly preferring to eyeball and feel into the energy of the ingredients.
Like intuitive eating, but in reverse??
In this case, I decided to suck it up and make the cake the right way. Jason does 90% of the cooking in our house, so why not give him my best effort on his birthday?
Jason casually mentioned that we had all the ingredients for a red velvet cake before he left for work that morning, so I harvested some beets to make the cake red. Naturally, this was the easiest part.
I sifted flour specifically made for cake-baking. I wrestled with Jason’s demonically possessed stand mixer and eventually got the bowl in.
But this sense of victory was short-lived as I realized my husband was totally wrong about having all the ingredients. Totally_wrong.
Some missing items were substitutable (e.g., apple cider vinegar instead of white vinegar), but I soon realized we had no white sugar. And by none, I mean about 1/4 cup, aka 1.5 cups less than the recipe called for. My car is undergoing repair, so I couldn’t drive to the store even if I had time for it, which I didn’t.
At this point, my resolution to strictly follow the recipe was about as firm as the billowing clouds of flour spewing from the cavernous depths of the demon mixer.
So, I regressed into my standard mode of food preparation: lax on rules, high on creativity. My temper eased as I fell into the role of a mad scientist, casually tossing spoonfuls of brown sugar and homemade maple syrup into the batter.
I stopped measuring because what’s the point when you aren’t even using the right ingredients? I imagined my preference for not-too-sweet cakes, considered the natural sugar from the raw beets, the small amount of white sugar, and then added whatever else *felt* right.
And the result was, indeed, a science project.
“That’s… interesting,” I said after taking my first bite.
The thing looked like a cake. It even smelled like a cake. But that’s where the similarities ended.
I can’t say it was bad, but it was… different. I finished my entire piece, mostly because I kept trying to figure out what I was eating. My senses were very confused by the taste and texture. Airy, almost like cotton candy? But not as sweet?
Jason ate the icing, which he made himself, off his own piece before I assured him I wouldn’t be offended if he chucked the rest out.
Well, friends, I ended up tossing the entire experiment. I concluded that intuitive baking isn’t a thing, and there’s a very good reason for that. However, Jason gave me an A- for effort and seemed genuinely pleased that I tried. With that said, I don’t think he’ll ever ask me to bake a cake again ::crosses fingers::
Chicks! We have baby chicks!
Between my birthday and Jason’s, our silkie hens welcomed four baby chicks.
They’re adorable. I’m obsessed with them and can often be found squatting in the coop, watching them bop around. They love to bop!
A lot of people have been asking about what’s going to happen to them. For now, the mother hens are taking good care of them, and even the roosters are gentle. I’m trusting them to keep the chicks safe for as long as they can. I bring them shallow dishes of water, but otherwise am completely hands-off.
I’m not naming any of them yet, because I’ve spent enough time on farms to know it’s too early for that.
I’ve been updating my Instagram stories daily with new video footage of the boppin chicks. They love to bop! Those little boppers.
If you don’t already, follow me here. Past videos are saved in the highlights section called “baby chicks.”
That’s all for now, friends. Thank you for reading!