Sprinkle Hunt

Its Saturday night, and you are baking in the kitchen. There is one lone flickering overhead light on and it barely illuminates the recipe. A solitary figure, you sift the powdered sugar necessary to make the frosting for your Fairy Drop cookies. Spread out on the counter are the many other ingredients, such as almond extract, vanilla extract, butter, and milk. The food coloring and sprinkles are set out nearby. You hear something. You turn around, scanning the room. There is nothing there. Curious, but you must have been imagining. The distraction has ruined your focus. You glance back at the recipe, reading the next step. You need the butter, so you look across the counter and... something is different. The butter... it's there, but it should be between the milk and the sprinkles... OH NO! the sprinkles are missing! WHAT? How could this have happened? You are astounded, frozen with shock. You frantically search the kitchen, throwing open cabinents and ripping open boxes of wheat thins. Where could the sprinkles be? Gaaa! You've checked the entire room, but no sprinkles! Wait... do you hear that? Listen closely... a small whispering sound. You can't locate its source, but as you listen you are able to distinguish certain words. "follow... follow the sugar trail... the sugar..." What? A cryptic message?? What good is that? No, wait... Look!A sugar trail! Follow it! Follow it and see what will follow! You must find the thief and seek out the fate of the sprinkles! Don't be scared; you must avenge your sprinkles! Now onward! You follow the trail. The sugar pieces glow luminescent in the dim light, creating a haunting picture. Will this path ever end? It goes on and on, for miles it seems. You grow tired, and the sugar grates on your feet. The path finally curves around the blue container and brings you to the stove. It doesn't continue. Dejected, you look around. There doesn't seem to be anything around but the cookie sheet with raw cookies on it, the ones you had placed there before any of this happened, forever ago. You go over the cookies, thinking maybe you have overlooked an important clue. You sit down next to a cookie, and sigh, because it really does look hopeless. You feel the warmth of the heated oven underneath your feet, and it feels nice, but not nice enough to stop you from crying. "Oh, little cookie, I wish you could help me!" you say in desperation.

"Oh but I can," the cookie responds. You jump up in surprise, gaping. "What?!?" "Yes," says the little tyke. "Not only am I a Fairy Drop Cookie but, since you have stamped me with one of those crazy food stamp mechanisms/utensils that don't really have names, I am also a... COMPASS COOKIE... and I can totally help you find your way." You are overjoyed. You dance up and down, because you seem to have so many friends that are willing to help you! How great! "Well, little one, how will you help me? What do I need to do?" The cookie has an immediate response. "I have four points, north east west south. One of my points will glow with the light of a million moons, highlighting the right way for you. You simply need to press your hand in my center, and think, very intensely, about what you have lost. That's it." You do as the compass cookie has instructed, pondering the sprinkles and all the great hopes you had for it, as well as all the great times you had spent with sprinkles, like at Christmas when you decorated the special holiday desserts. Weren't those good times? Oh! One of the points of Compass cookie is glowing. Wow, that is bright, and... whoa! You have to cover your eyes, the light is so blinding. "You must really want what has been taken from you," the cookie says. "I have never glowed as bright as that, in all the minutes of my existence. Your way is certain. You must go east. I have other advice for you, too. Find wooden spoon. Wooden Spoon is a mystical utensil and she will help you if ever you need more assistance. I wish you the best of luck in your quest." You thank cookie, but now you must be on your way. Continue to the east!

Apple and His Hair

This apple slice has peanut butter hair. He's full of attitude and his leaning stance is highly masculine. He probably rides a motorcycle and, if he had hands, they would most likely be oily from 1. fixing up cars in the garage or, 2. fixing up his greasy hair. His name is James because he looks like a mixture of Jimmy Neutron and James Dean.

Anyways, I just thought the apple looked cool. It must be the hair.

This other apple slice is tough to figure out. I would leave it out of this post but I think it would feel neglected and sad, so I think I had better include it with James.

Cookie Commotion

Heyyyy! We's cookiez are throwin some crazee partay on the table next ts'day. We's gonna have some great times. Lasts times we's had some party, snick'doodle towdally fell off onto the chair, man, it was crazay. He's had to gets some reparational surgery in the crazy house since then. We's went to go visits 'im dis one time and like, its wazzis insanity. Yeahh... But likes, we's gonna have a DJ from the fridge comes and shakeses us up. I think Choc-Chip booked his sec'nd cus, Choc-syrUP. He's one hard partiers, I tellses you, man. He plays them tuneses from lawk, ts'day til the nexted ts'day. Maybes even we gets liek, Frostthe-ing to come and we's can dip in him fah some extras recreational stuffs. Sugah's gots some good relationships with Frostthe-ing, you know hows them sugar cookiez gets with their frostin', man. Raisin'daRoof might even stops us by, and dose raisin cookees sure are squareses some timeses. Da only fooles we's not invitin' are dose fricken stores-bought, fact'ry-made cookees. Deys some idiots. Deys don't know some how to partay. Deys don't dance til the lite. Deys are 'ristocratic. Deys are snobses. We's don't want nuthin' to do wid dem. But its gonna be some greats timeses if you hits us up at da party dis ts'day. 'member, is at da table. You's come, you's enjoys youself. Us cookeez, we's don't discrim'nate. We's are just likin' to partay up da kistchen. Pieces outs nows, man.

Monty and his Slices

This is a loaf of pound cake. This is a very distraught loaf of pound cake. His name is Monty. As with all cakes, he was pregnant with slices. Monty could not decide what fate would befall his pieces. Would they be an afternoon snack? After dinner dessert? An unhealthy breakfast? Perhaps they would be beautiful, or maybe hideous. Monty was worried. He wanted his slices to be amazing tasting. He wanted people to eat them. He wanted his slices to make someone happy. He did not want some slacker slices who sit in the Tupperware container all week long, accumulating bacteria, age, and even mold. They would disgrace his name. His reputation would be tarnished. As Monty sat on the wire rack, he pondered the future. He glanced over at the bowl next to him. What is this? Strawberries? In winter? Monty was overjoyed. Strawberries were promising. Not only did they look fashionably fabulous, but they were tasty. His pieces going to have many blessings and not only would they look nice, if the cutting went well, but-OH! Monty inaudibly groaned in pain. The knife! He was getting cut!The first piece was thin, too thin. It was too premature. Would it still be eaten? And the first piece, too! This did not look well, it forebode tragedy. Monty was almost crazy with anxiety. But, okay, the next piece was cut, and it wasn't so puny. It was actually sort of gorgeous. The next three pieces were great, too. And then, oh, the knife cut a tiny sliver of a piece off, a crooked sliver. What? Monty was confused. Who would want such a small piece? Now Monty saw, the piece was being added to his stunted firstborn. He chuckled in relief. He looked over at the nearby table. There seemed to be a commotion. A sibling rivalry! One of his pieces was competing with the other in some sort of beauty contest. He watched.

One piece was Clarisse. She was had strawberries scattered on her surface and around her plate. It was very artistic, or so thought Monty. She even had a sprig of greenery sprouting out of her top. Monty blushed to think of the frivolity, but it did his heart proud to see how pretty she looked. Clarisse looked very appetizing and Monty was astounded that she was really, at heart, just a piece of pound cake, like himself. She looked like she was a gourmet creation, and not fraught of humble beginnings.



The other piece was Emily. She was rather plain, and her strawberries were heaped in a rainbow-like arc over her surface. Her crust was a very becoming golden brown and the juice of the strawberries on her was a nice touch. Emily was a humble piece, and she did not really care about superficiality and fashion. It was odd that she was even in the beauty pageant competition at all. But Monty was proud of her effort to be nice-looking, even if it failed.




Monty watched as the winner of the competition was announced. It was Clarisse. It was no surprise to him, and he was happy for Clarisse, but he was sad for Emily, too. They were finally taken away to be eaten, and Monty was happy that his pieces had achieved the glory of being devoured. He was shoved into a Tupperware not soon after and, while it was sad to be put away, his fears for his slices were also put to rest, with the belief that pound cake, ugly or beautiful, cannot help but be eaten.

The Man in the Moon is in the Milk

I made my oatmeal this morning, put some brown sugar and jam on it, and then poured some milk into the bowl, to cool it down. I took my bowl over to the table, and looked down, and there he was! The man in the moon, present in his crescent shape, with an eye, a nose, and a small prim mouth. It was great. Only I was still half asleep so the greatness of it didn't hit me until after school, when I reviewed the photographical evidence. But now I'm jazzed. As an added bonus, if you tilt your head to the left, you can see a sort of demonic goblin in the jam. He's got 2 eyes, the left one's kind of skinny and long, and he also has a triangle nose in the middle. And a wierd shaped mouth. But he detracts from the glory of the man in the moon and his face isn't as intricate or beautifully lunar. Anyways, its great.

The Tumgos

Can you see the Indian in the photograph? He rides on a horse that leaps into the air, the feather of his headress flying in the wind. He is one of the most elusive persons in the West. He is Chief GreySwirl, not to be confused with GreySquirrel, and is chief of the tribe Tumgo. Chief GreySwirl is a firm believer in the culinary arts and has formulated a strict regime for his people. The women cook their culture-rich food in large pots during the day, while the men go out hunting for fresh meat or, more often, for recipes. Sometimes they steal these recipes from neighboring tribes, which really gets their fellow Natives up at arms. There have been some close calls, where some of the Tumgos have not been so stealthy and have almost been caught. The victim tribe runs out with knives or spoons, to chase after those tricky Tumgos. But the Tumgos usually always manage to escape, cookbook, index card, or printout in hand. One time they were not so lucky. Chief GreySwirl sent out RedDirt, a young thief trainee, to nab a Betty Crocker Cookbook just outside a teepee. But RedDirt was not so swift, and just as he grabbed the corner of the book, an enraged and possessive squaw rushed at him, knocking him over. She punched his eye out, leading to serious cornea problems, and causing RedDirt to cry. But he quickly manned up and ripped out a few pages of the cookbook, making a hurried getaway. The squaw brought her complaints, as well as her damaged cookbook, to her chief, and he declared war on the Tumgos. When Chief GreySwirl heard this, he was not bothered in the least. For the Tumgos worship a series of culinary gods and goddesses, deities he was sure would not fail them. Their deities are based after foods and ingredients, the sort of stuff you might find in the kitchen on a busy baking day, with lots of different recipes in progress (which is every day for the Tumgos!). One such of these, a very important and superior goddess, is Queen Kustardania. She is a fancy goddess, because she is a mixture of eggnog, egg, and rum. The Tumgos revere her because of the eggnog component, and you can only get eggnog at one time of year, making it a very special ingredient. The rum part is respected too. Anyways, the Tumgos seriously worship Queen Kustardania. They all know that she would never let them down. So Chief GreySwirl was not worried. He knew that with due sacrifices and ample war chants, this war would be a Tumgo victory. The women of the tribe prepared the best foods for Queen Kustardania, cakes, pies, pastries, soups, meats, salads, casseroles, souffles, pancakes, etc. etc. They set them down before a custard pie, meant to represent the queen, and then burned the foods, and ate the charred remains. The next day, the war began. It was a tough fight, with much stabbing of forks, thwacking of spoons, bashing of cookbooks over heads, and throwing of bowls. Finally, the resounding clash of cookie sheets echoed in the distance, signalling an end to the battle. Many of the Indians ended up wounded, and a few died. It was a somber time for both tribes. When the two tribes finally counted up their tally of unscathed survivors, the Tumgos had more and therefore really had succeeded. It was a joyous occasion. The opposing tribe slunk home with heads hung low, and the Tumgos pranced to their home with pockets full of recipe cards. Chief GreySwirl was adorned with a new feather, and Queen Kustardania was celebrated for days on end. The Tumgos were free to plunder recipes again and they were free to follow under Chief GreySwirl's impressive leadership and his culinary lifestyle until death. And so Chief GreySwirl and his tribe of the Tumgos continue to inspire us today, with their valiant cookery and all its pursuits.

Ketchup: A Great Saga

YOU, as a bottle of ketchup, do you think you're set for life? Do you think you can just waltz right out of the refrigerator and be the best condiment in the kitchen? Do you think your life is going to be easy? Well don't think, KNOW. Know what you are going to do when you leave the refrigerator because there are many paths for you to take. I've prepared this seminar and instructional memoir for all you ignorant bottles out there. I know the ropes, I'm an emptied and rinsed ketchup bottle, all ready for the recycling bin. I didn't get to ultimate ketchup fulfillment and satisfaction by chilling in the fridge. So pay close attention. Because the life of ketchup is one to be revered.

Ketchup: A Great Saga

Part 1

The Early Months

The journey to become a famed and honored Ketchup, known in some regions as Catsup, is one that begins at the bottle.

36 ounces, one of 57 varieties, Ketchup has potential. And the ideal ketchup bottle will scream potential. He needs to stand proud and erect with his bold and statement-making label. He begins as a full bottle, firm and pristine. When ketchup is first slapped right on the grocery store shelf, the fun ends. Factory time is over. Ketchup needs to catch the eye of every customer in the store, and hold that eye contact for at least 3 seconds. The goal of a shelved ketchup is only to be bought. And when he is bought, the real work begins. From the moment he first feels the chill of the refrigerator, he should know the condiment life is exactly right for him. Surveying his habitat with expentant optimism, Ketchup should look upon all his roommates with a friendly attitude. Even if a friendly attitude and genial smile aren't enough. "Its a dog-eat-dog world in there. Dairy products going bad, the ashamed bottles at the back of the refrigerator, the mix of personalities, well, its intense," one Ketchup, who prefers to remain anonymous, told us. Her experience in the refrigerator was particularily dismal. Tempermental containers are a huge part of life in any refrigerator and it is important that as a civilized, mature ketchup bottle, you ignore any overdramatic situation the other bottles/containers get into. Life in the refrigerator is tough, but it is a small sacrifice on the altar of acting a hero to hot dogs, french fries, scambled eggs, hamburgers and further varieties of meat products everywhere. Join us for Part 2: Techniques for Food Products.