This battle, if not won by me, could threaten the peaceful well-being in this household and will most certainly shatter all trust developed with my husband.
It all started about three weeks ago with a pledge to my mother-in-law. Since we would be traveling to her house in B.C. for Christmas, I promised to bring lots of baking. As I made this important ‘Christmas baking pact’ with her, I had visions of gingerbread men, shortbread cookies and almond roca dancing in my head.
The very next day, after the pact had been signed via email, I devoted my day to baking. With the wants and desires of my husband’s family in mind, I set to making unique and one-of-a-kind recipes that would suit everyone’s palate.
I made some shortbread, but in order to satisfy my father-in-law’s sweet tooth, I added a ribbon of dark chocolate that ran through the centre. My mother-in-law enjoys crunch in her cookies, so I lightly toasted some pecans and added those to the recipe as well.
Then I made some biscotti for my health-conscious brother-in-law and his family. I know they watch their weight and caloric intake, so I went with whole-wheat flour, honey instead of sugar and a host of health ingredients from roasted pumpkin seeds to dried cherries, chia seeds and hemp hearts. By the end, I had created a pretty tasty concoction that, when laced with orange zest and a sprinkling of Bernard Callebaut dark chocolate chunks, didn’t taste like health food at all.
I packed my precious creations away in a Tupperware container and stashed it in the basement freezer. All was well, I thought, until I spotted a strange thing in my husband’s hand one day.
‘What is that?’ I shouted from the rooftops.
‘Oh, this? It’s a cookie?’ he stammered.
‘Where did you get it from?’ I questioned as my eyes popped out of my head.
‘From the freezer,’ he sheepishly declared.
I saw all my hopes and dreams for a baking-filled Christmas flash before my eyes.
‘How many did you eat?’ I managed to ask.
‘Oh, we’ve been having them all week,’ said my husband.
WE … who was we? ALL WEEK … how many cookies could THEY possible eat in one week?
As I went down to the freezer and saw that most of the cookies had been eaten and all of the biscotti was gone, I began to question the relationships and trusts that had been formed in our household over the course of the last two decades.
I grabbed a piece of paper and quickly wrote, ‘How to stop my family from eating the cookies?’ This note was a reminder to myself for the topic of this column. I left it on the counter, only to look at it the next day to see that ‘the enemy’ put a big X through my words and had answered my question with big black letters that read, ‘I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E.’
At that point, I had a choice. I could fight a three-week battle. Or, I could join the enemy, eat the remainder of the frozen cookies myself and prepare for the second round of warfare.
I chose to join ‘em and eat myself silly.
My new battle plan is a simple one. I’ll bake some more, but this time, I’ll wait until the day before we leave.
How many cookies could we possibly eat in one day?
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