While I am the first to admit that I am far from being a "domestic goddess", there are times when I do something so awesome, I almost feel worthy of the title.
Today was not one of those days.
Being in the mood to bake something for an upcoming jam session, I decided that a blueberry cheesecake would be just the thing. After all, I'd made a dozen cheesecakes in the past month. They'd turned out great, and I was confident in my abilities. I was also about to get up close and personal with reality, which scoffs at the confidence of mortals.
Reality decided to strike by stealing all of the aluminum foil and cookies. Without foil, I can't wrap my Springform pan. Without cookies, I can't make a crust. Reality eats worms.
Junior watched with interest as I pulled the foil box from the drawer and removed the empty cardboard roll.
"It's all gone, Mama."
"That's right, kiddo. Looks like we'll have to improvise."
My eye landed on a small pan of pound cake, a gluten-free (and very tasty) gift from friends. It was covered in foil! Woo-hoo! Since most of the cake had been eaten, the last chunk could be consumed for breakfast and the foil used for the cheesecake. Genius. Reality retreated to a corner, sulking. Now for the cookies.
Half a box of ginger snaps surfaced, but they would be a little overpowering for a cheesecake. They were pretty high-octane in the ginger department. Cereal? No. Blueberry cheesecake and Admiral Crispies or whatever they were did not sound like a match made in culinary heaven. Wait! Here, in the back of the cupboard. An unopened package of graham crackers from Junior's cracker kick last month. Score!
Reality took revenge as I crunched up crackers. With nearly a full cup of crumbs at my disposal, I decided to get creative and add some ginger snap crumbs to the mix. Mind you, these cookies are hard as granite, so I was prepared to use force. I put the cookies in a bag and hefted the rolling pin. WHACK! Down came the rolling pin.
Right onto the handle of the cup of graham cracker crumbs.
They made a beautiful display, sailing in a graceful arc across the kitchen and forming a monotone mosaic on the floor. I stared in horror, then gave a demonstration of why I should never be allowed to have a cooking show on live television.
Having completed my recitation of the ancestry and personal habits of cookies, rolling pins, and the universe in general, I cleaned up the mess and crushed another batch of graham crackers. With my fists. Reality had apparently decided that I'd suffered enough, and the rest of the preparations went smoothly.
So, I am no domestic goddess. I am pretty tough, though. Those cookies won't be messing with me again.