Aid

This is Elizabeth. We have been friends since college. Not sure how this is possible, but I have known Elizabeth for 15 years. That really feels like a typo. We worked together and wrote brilliantly individually but near each other for the Battalion, our college newspaper. Elizabeth taught me how to be a vegetarian. She also taught me how to organize my shirts in rainbow color order, although I don't actually do that. But she does. Elizabeth is amazing.

Elizabeth lives in Washington D.C. She does good work well on behalf of cyclists! I love to visit her. I think I have been there  5 times ... so far! I love visiting Elizabeth in Texas and D.C. for the jokes, the laughs, the food, the commentary, and the wise words. Elizabeth helps me value myself.

She's a warrior.

Elizabeth and her husband Jason have a darling son, a scrumptious baby daughter, and a charming home that is filled with tasty treats from Trader Joe's and color-coded book shelves. (Maybe even rainbow order.) They are mindful thoughtful people, and what they eat/purchase/cook demonstrates that ethos, from farmer's market meat and eggs to baked-from-scratch cookies. They have not stuffed their baby full of processed food products the way some of us have. ("Yes, Annie, you can have another fruit roll-up.")

I admire this very, very much.

Meanwhile, in Texas, I am stumbling along, remembering and looking forward to food-ier days. Sometimes it's hard to remember when I used to check out Indian cookbooks from the library and savor dinner possibilities. I used to have a food calendar. Didn't follow it every night, but I had a list of various menu possibilities, and in my desire to categorize, sometimes we had various ethnic cuisines on certain evenings, like Italian food on Sundays or Asian food on Saturdays. I even invited people to eat in my home.

But I'm in a different life stage. I'm still trying to make meals, but short cut is the name of the game. I often do not have/recognize/make/take the time for anything more than that. It was with pleasure, then, that I set out to make sugar cookies on Friday morning. I was bringing all the fixings for a cookie decorating station to Graham's class party, and the fixings included sugar cookies. I thought about purchasing plain cookies but decided to make them myself since I had some time in the morning. My semester is over, and by goodness, I'm going to cover my hands in butter, sugar and flour!

While preparing the dough, however, I remembered that I don't have a rolling pin. That was one kitchen implement I did not take in the move. I certainly got more than my fair share of dishes, pots, pans and appliances, but Kyle took the rolling pin. He was always the master baker anyway. In the year and a half we've lived here, I haven't rolled out any dough. (I haven't rolled in any dough either!) I've made cookies, but only the buy-a-mix,-drop-them-on-the-pan variety. That's kind of sad, but we haven't been hurting for treats around here. Also, I had just been to the grocery store. I needed to get the cookies in the oven if they had any chance of cooling before the party.

So what to do? Improvise!

Lucky for me, I just happen to keep this empty Topo Chico bottle handy in my kitchen. Mostly I used it to water plants, but I also keep it around because I like saying the words "topo chico". I like chilled Topo Chico (just bubbly water, really) on hand, especially during the summer. I like the design of the bottle too. The design, in fact, is just right for use as a rolling pin. By the time I figured out the perfect flour consistency on the "floured" surface and pressed down hard on the glass, I was rolling out sliver thin dough circles and stamping Christmas trees and snowmen-shaped cookies. Thank goodness for my giant bucket of cookie cutters. Glad to put them to use.

 

Most of the cookies turned out fine, but the last baking sheets stayed in too long, and with my gas oven, a moment too long is a lifetime too long. I've learned the scorchingly hard way that a gas-powered oven, and a middle-aged one at that, can be brutally unforgiving. This torched snowman tells the sad tale. I put in the last trays, then went to get ready for the class parties, then got ready, then smelled burning snowman cookie flesh. It was not my high point as a pastry chef! There were enough cookies for the children to decorate, but I was still frustrated!

So imagine my utter delight when, on Friday night after helping friends move, I came home in the dark (to a kitchen with flour still dusting its counters and dead snowmen still on a sheet on the oven)  and saw this giant box waiting quietly on my porch. I screamed in the van! Screams of joy!

Oh no she didn't! I said to myself. I knew a mixer was coming but didn't realize it would be a KitchenAid. (Long story.) In the three days since Elizabeth called and required me to tell her a color preference lest she order a mustard yellow something/something for me, I just kept picturing a smallish handmixer on its way. I was expecting something a little lower down the appliance totem pole, and was shocked! struck! hit! with the enormity of this gift. Topo Chico!

I may not yet make cookies at Elizabeth's level (it was at her home that I discovered lemon sugar cookies, and we know what happened when I tried swapping out a few ingredients last year), but you can bet I'm going to be thinking of her every time I whip up an airy cake or finger-licking meringue. (I've never done that, but should try.) Now I can try making some of Sara's neopolitan cookies that look so delicious.

The words "thank you" feel pretty pedestrian. Screaming in the car is a more appropriate response.  My kitchen life may have been reduced to hurried breakfasts, dusty cookbooks with post-it notes reminding me of my now-departed hibernating glorious foodie-wannabe days, and crisper drawers filled with veggies only I will eat, but I am now the proud owner of a serious piece of kitchen equipment.