Holiday Baking: Go Home Baker Go!  

Have you ever cracked an egg and been delighted to find a double yolk? If you are superstitious like me, then you know that you’ve received a blessing from the baking gods because twin yolks mean you’ll have good luck. Or you’ll have twins. I prefer the former fortune.

I count my one lucky egg as two for any recipe. What about you?

During the holidays, I am addicted to the holiday baking championships. My craving for such entertainment starts around Halloween and continues through New Year’s Day. ’Tis the season of sweets!

Food Network follows a simple easy-to-follow show recipe. Every segment has a theme. For example, the judges want the cheery contestants to update a fruitcake recipe, design bite-size sugar cookies for Santa’s elves, or conjure up reindeer treats fit for human consumption. Sounds fun, right? The winner receives a monetary prize.   

The participants range from professional pastry chefs to the home baker who showcase their skills along with their giant personality. Each person must bake under deadline pressure. Cue the Mission Impossible music. Judges seek perfection grading the bakers on the presentation, texture, taste, flavor combination, creativity, and whether or not they fulfilled the theme. But before the mission is over, there’s a twist thrown at the bakers. 

The jolly host informs the crew of contestants (in a loud and obnoxious way) that they must incorporate a specific ingredient. Surprise! An odd fruit like quince, a strange herb like sage (in sweets, oh my!) or an exotic extract appears on the countertop like an unwanted lump of coal.

Of course, the twist adds tension.

Winners of the heat get an advantage say a five-minute lead time, or first choice of their favorite flavor to bake with among the common and rare flavors. I pity the poor person who must have “mace” as a spice or coconut as a flavor. But that’s just me.  

But I admire the apron clad badass bakers who have the courage to rise to the challenge as viewers like me watch and judge.  

These judges are expected to have discerning taste buds. As a viewer, I am at a loss because the rum-infused chocolate is not melting in my mouth. And the dry cake isn’t sticking in my throat. I must imagine the creamy mouthfeel and spicy eggnog taste of the three-inch yellow cheesecake. But I don’t have to pretend to hear the panicked voices of the bakers talking as they drop butter into the whirling mixer, grind nuts in the food processor, or dice fruit with precision.  A grand performance, which never happens while I’m baking.

Another thing about the show judges is how they perform. First, they dress to impress and distract the viewer. It’s a contest to see who is wearing the most outlandish outfit. They don the red horns of the devil for spooky themes or sport green and red stripped stockings of a misfit elf for a Christmas segment.

Despite their appearance, the judges have discerning taste buds. As a viewer, I am at a loss because the rum-infused chocolate is not melting in my mouth. The dry cake isn’t sticking in my throat. I must imagine the creamy mouthfeel and spicy eggnog taste of the three-inch yellow cheesecake.    

I find the judges are hyper critical at times. It pains me to hear them make jokes about lopsided creations, crispy (burnt) cookies, or half-decorated cakes. They express their opinions like, “I can’t taste the special ingredient.” Often a kinder judge will say: “I know you are a better baker.”

However, the panel of judges often will overlook the flaws if they hear a heartwarming story behind the red velvet cake plated before them. Recipes that evoke nostalgia are superior to recipes that require pure scientific skill.  

For many people, the kitchen is a magical place awakening our senses and our memories of the people who make us feel cared for and loved.

But I digress. Back to the judges and their decisions

The hardest part for me to watch is the final line up of competitors waiting to learn if they will stay or go home. The souls sent home look as deflated as a sunken souffle. I wish the judges would award consolation prizes for the kindest bakers. I believe anyone who helps their colleague finish decorating cookies in the final throes, gives their neighbor a hug when they need it, or doles out useful advice desires an award. Or at least receive praise from the panel.

Someday I’ll suggest that to Food Network.

To all the home bakers you are already winners. Now, in case you are a betting baker, the odds of cracking open a double yolk are one in 1,000 eggs, and those are better odds than qualifying to compete in the holiday baking competition.   

 

Cranberry Conundrum

What will I do with six cans of cranberry sauce? A surplus of sauce stems from my fear of running out of cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving dinner. Our menu must feature certain colorful sweet sides – yams and cranberries. What makes the feast festive –family, friends, food – and cranberry of course.

Now that the holiday is over, and leftovers are vanishing, what happens to the regal ridged ready to slice and serve canned cranberry? Fear not friends, we will eat the cranberry.

Before going on, I’d like to note I have bought and cooked fresh cranberries. Oh, what fun to watch the berries bubble and hear them sputter and pop, Pop, POP.  Once cooked, the berries become a thick red gloppy, glorious sauce to garnish the turkey and the table.

I’ve also made cranberry chutney with raw berries, mandarin oranges, sugar, and chopped nuts. Neither recipe was asked back for encores on our menu. Despite being delicious, they were unwelcome at our family table because these versions couldn’t compare to the jellied side, which slips and slides from the can into the bowl and onto the plate. We learned new recipes can’t compete with long-standing tradition.

Tradition matters more than taste.

Well, sometimes taste is key too. When my sister-in-law’s mother brought a pecan pie with chocolate for Thanksgiving, she even complained that the pie tasted off. The next year, she showed up with plain pecan pie.

Plain isn’t always welcome though. My mom always baked yams topped with gooey browned marshmallows because my dad loved them. Anyone who did not want or like melted marshmallows with their vegetables simply scooped out naked [gasp!] yams.  

To add or subtract a dish is risky and bold. Yet sometimes it works. My canned pumpkin curry soup was a surprise hit. But speaking from experience in our house: People want what they’ve always had for Thanksgiving dinner. And that’s alright with me.

Now, back to the cans of cranberry, here is my list:

1)     Dollop in oatmeal or on toast.

2)     Slice it up and serve it on any sandwiches.

3)     Bake someone happy with cranberry muffins.

4)     Melt the cranberry over brie for an appetizer.

5)     Try lovely looking lemon cranberry bars featured in the NY Times cooking website.

6)     Eat it out of the can, straight.   

7)     Save a can until next year in case there’s a shortage. I checked the expiration date and thank goodness, the canned cranberry is good until 2025. Yay! The pressure is off.

In closing, I’m grateful for family, friends and sharing a meal together with or without the cranberry sauce. Turns out the cranberry sauce is thankful for being served.