My dear sweet hubs is trying his darnedest to make me fat. He loves to bake. I suspect he loves it more than me, but this is not a subject I will broach in his company because I don’t really want to know the answer.
For Christmas, I gave him this bad boy:
A 6-quart KitchenAid mixer with a bowl that lifts & lowers. He’s had the 4.5-quart version for a couple of years and is about to burn the motor out of it. Before we go any further, I must tell you that I got a massively SWEET deal on this, thanks to Amazon and a rebate. I ended up paying 35% of list price. Go me!
Anyway, he decided today to pull Silver off of her shelf and whip up some bread. (She has to live on a tall shelf in the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen because she’s too tall to live on the counter.) This is after he made homemade cinnamon rolls for breakfast today. He bakes cookies, cakes, pies, and bread. I honestly think he’s trying to thwart my weight loss. I can see him in the kitchen, buttering the tops of the loaves. They just came out of the oven. He’s a bit perturbed because the tops are more done than he’d like, but I think they look lovely. They’re not burned, so I’m fine with it. I wonder if he’ll bring me a slice as I sit here, attempting to look as if I’m hard at work. I’ll keep you posted.
Lest you think I’m a kitchen slacker, I’m the one responsible for all of the meals. That would make me the chef. I can live with this arrangement because I only cook meals that I like. Translation: healthy or mostly so. I probably would weigh 400 pounds if hubs was the chef and baker because he’d always be making fried stuff. In fact, when we first got married, I leveled one of the few ultimatums in our marriage: get rid of the Fry Daddy…or else. I’m happy to say that we’ve been Fry Daddy-free since 1995.
Ok – he just got up from the couch and asked, “Who wants bread?” The three kids in the room all shouted, “Oooh, me! Me!” I didn’t say anything, so we’ll see what he does now.
I gotta go. He just delivered a warm slice of buttered bread over here.