With New Year’s Eve approaching, we’re almost through another holiday season. It’s always downhill for me after school lets out for Christmas. That’s great given I’m in a near-comatose state by then from all the rich foods consumed at holiday gatherings. That state also affords an incredible excuse to eat with wild abandon on Christmas Day. Honestly, I was unaware of what I was doing. My bathroom scale, however, will remind me exactly what I’ve been up to.
Since being in a heavy carbohydrate haze is probably not an adequate excuse to miss my deadline, I’ll try my level best to put together enough words to fill my spot. (Note to self: If I run short on words, I can always submit a new photo. That will absolutely fill more space. Hmmm . . . public humiliation may be what’s required to get me to push away from the table and exercise something other than my jaw.) Despite my mental fog, I still remember that today marks a very special event in my life.
On December 28, 1998, I got out of the bakery business forever. (This is where everyone who knows me pauses and scratches their head.) For six and a half years I baked on and off, with roughly 27 of those months spent working around the clock.
It was a family business, and Jeff and I learned we could withstand the heat in the kitchen about as well as any others who dared travel the same territory. But boy, oh boy, did we get an education on ovens. Ours worked just fine save for one minor detail: It baked little buns to perfection but the oven door simply would not open when the timer went off.
We didn’t discover that little problem until the first bun was baked. Countless people yanked, pulled and otherwise tried to force it open: no luck. A man with lots of tools and special skills removed the door and retrieved the bun looking every bit like it had been nearly pulled through the vents. It’s a good thing buns are malleable.
The oven mechanic decided it was probably a one-time fluke and that the door probably wouldn’t stick again. Well, he was almost right. The timer went off on the second bun, the door opened a tiny bit, but not nearly enough to get the bun out without squishing it. The door had to be removed again. And, much to our surprise, the bun we thought we were baking turned out to be a totally different variety –with raisins instead of without.
We gave not another thought to the oven door, decided two buns with raisins was plenty and put up the “closed” sign.
A year and a half later, and much to everyone’s surprise, there was another bun in the oven. Thankfully, the oven mechanic suggested setting the timer and removing the door prior to the “done” alarm sounding. That was the way to go! My last little muffin (without raisins) came out perfectly cooked with not so much as a single mark and not squished in the slightest. Of course she was the prettiest we’d ever seen.
Over the years, she begged for us to re-open the bakery. I explained that the plumbing had been altered and no longer met code.
I’m quite all right with being out of the business. I don’t miss the constant clean-up, long sleepless hours, or the mind-numbing worry over whether all the ingredients mixed up just right. Plus, there’s all that stuff about the third time being a charm, and not messing with perfection –especially when it falls straight from heaven. Happy Birthday Muffin!
© 2008 Natalie Whatley