Wholly Schmidt!

I got a mixer for Christmas because I miss the chocolate chip cakes my mom makes. I learned to bake it myself in college, but at the time I was borrowing mixers from neighbors in the dorm/apartment. Out in the real world, my mixing options vanished. I have no wife (I think they come with kitchen appliances, right?*), and roommates with no culinary aspirations beyond cold beer and reheated fast food; I had to take matters into my own hands, so I asked Santa what he could do. I killed two birds with one stone, because I’d also been wondering what to do with the extra stickers I had that came with my copy of Guitar Hero. Ta-da!

The recipe, at least my copy of it, was a .txt file on my computer with a list of ingredients and the oven setting. It’s not complete, but I thought I knew enough to get the mixing and procedure right from memory. My mixing could’ve used a little work the first time around, but what I didn’t count on was my ingredients being too vague. I couldn’t remember what kind of flour to buy, so I ended up with self-rising, but the recipe also had the ingredients to make the cake rise. My first attempt was edible and not bad, but rose too much and didn’t hold together very well. It was too crumbly. This was two weekends ago, so I had no problem just eating it all myself.

After a few emails to my mom, I got the flour situation cleared up and some tips on mixing order that probably don’t affect the outcome, but make life easier during the assembly.

Saturday was movie night at Eric’s. Eric is the host of our LAN parties, but movie night is a more social (well, more socially acceptable) activity that involves the wives as well, so I figured that would be a good public test. A beta version, if you will, having devoured the alpha myself, was whipped up Saturday afternoon. Piles of sushi and many Snakes on a Plane later, a half-dozen people were diving into snacks, wings, and my second chocolate chip cake:

It was a success! Not only was the cake devoured and complimented, we discovered that cake’s natural cake-y-ness is perfect for sponging up the spicy hot wing sauce burning its way through Eric’s digestive system. I don’t want to think about what the cake tasted like to him, I think his enthusiasm for it had more to do with relief than flavor, but everyone else liked it too.Those people are all old and married, so I don’t care about them. Don’t tell them! The final test was Sunday night. I baked my third cake Sunday afternoon (two cakes in two days!) and took it to dinner after church. Every first and third Sunday after church, the “young people” (we don’t have a specific church program or Sunday School class to give us an official name, just a bunch of people from college to mid-twenties) get together at someone’s house; the host serves dinner and everyone else brings dessert. It was definitely my best cake yet, the ingredients were right and I ironed out a few things with how I layered them in the pan, and it paid off. They loved it! Single women were impressed! Also, it was delicious, but single women were impressed. I’m pretty sure I just have to sit back and wait for them to propose to me now and then look over their applications to pick the best one. That’s how this works, right?

Seriously though, the cake is delicious, and that’s almost all thanks to my mom, my mom Santa, and I guess maybe Nestle. Now I need something to top it for the next dinner. Anyone know any good recipes?

*maybe that attitude is why

I gave an audible sniff as I walked into the apartment the other night and immediately asked my roommate what he burned. He told me “Nothing, it was just right” as I walked into the kitchen and saw the tray with a few left over french fries still on the stove. I nodded dismissively and gave a sarcastic “sure.” I don’t think he’s ever heated up those frozen french fries without burning them, and he makes a lot of french fries.

Later that night, after he’s gone to bed, I notice the smoke alarm has been taken down. With his track record, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he thinks that’s a normal step in cooking anything, but more likely it just confirmed what I really never doubted.

Two hours of Tivo’d 24 later, as I’m heading for bed, I walk through the kitchen once more and notice the oven has been on the entire night! Four-hundred-fifty degrees, just waiting for me to let my guard down and go to sleep! The fries were obviously just an excuse to take the smoke alarm down; he’s trying to burn the apartment down while we sleep.

Like I really needed another reason to look for a new apartment.

Have you heard of the iPhone? You might have. I wish it’s what I wanted it to be. Sadly, it’s too much phone, and not enough iPod. I‘ve already got a Shuffle, so if I’m going to own another iPod it’s going to need to be big enough to hold the rest of my music (like my old 3G, may he rest in peace). And I sure don’t need $600 worth of phone features that are neat, but ultimately not the sort of features I’d be willing to pay that much for from any other provider. So it’s a no sale for me at $600. Still, pretty much all the rest of me, the emotive, artistic, and sensual parts of my brain, really really really want that. They want to touch it, and hold it, and maybe see if my tongue works on the touch screen.

I’ve said too much.