Royal Icing is my Nemesis
I don’t
know why I torture myself. I am no
baker. It requires too much diligence,
too much exactitude, too much chemistry.
I am much better suited to cooking where I can add a little of this and
mix a little of that. I have been
cooking long enough that I have most techniques down pat and trust my instincts
to come up with flavor profiles that please.
I take freewheeling liberties with most recipes that I come across
because I know what will work and what won’t.
But
baking…it typically results in at least one kitchen kata-strophe
per attempt. Hand wringing ensues,
followed by beads of perspiration, and mostly ends with cursing and the
contents in the trashcan. I have caught
the oven on fire more than one time.
Then there was that one Christmas when the icing on my cake deflated and
the top layer of the cake slid off right before it was to be served. My cupcakes tend to be dry and my pumpkin
bars still batter-ey. Infuriating for
an incurable perfectionist.
Sadly
yesterday was no exception, I made sugar cookies for the party. No probs there. I can at
least master sugar cookies. But the ding
dang icing. I should have known better
than to think I could swing any royal icing shenanigans on my first
attempt.
I have
stayed away from it with good reason. I
have heard murmurings that it is difficult to work with – boo, that is doesn’t taste very good - why bother, and timing is critical –
not my strong suit. But it yields
professional looking cookies with icing that sets up beautifully for
packaging. So long as you get the colors
right.
I'll spare
you the details – but let’s just say the gold glittery monogrammed rounds and
stars did NOT turn out gold and glittery.
More along the lines of squash colored baby poo. And just like baby poo, that
icing seeped down the sides too. Sads.
No
matter. I am still going to rock those
cookies. ‘Cuz with
moves like Jagger no one will pay any attention to poop cookies.
kisses, mrs. V
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