Hi.
It’s me, Amber. The chick that loves to share (and EAT!) yummy recipes on the interwebs.
Rememba?
Heck, I barely remember myself I have been so busy over the past few months. Or should I say several.
Ouch.
Being out of the blogging game for several months hurts. Especially my food-loving heart.
“You Can’t Change a Man”
Women have been told that their entire lives. You can fix a guy, you can’t change a guy. You marry the man you see in front of you, not an idealistic view of what he could be.
I say these women just didn’t try hard enough.
Pansies.
Ok, really I am half-joking. You shouldn’t marry a guy thinking that his over-zealousness for politics will shift to a passion for reality TV. Or that his sports obsession will disappear, only to be replaced with an undying love for musical theater.
I may know this from personal experience.
BUT…you can train, er, mold a man into a better version of himself. And by better, I of course mean better for us women.
I apologize that there has been such a lag in posting on my young blog. I assure you I have not retreated into the non-blog world never to appear again.
I had a welcome distraction. Actually two welcome distractions:
My little babies decided to grow up and have their fourth birthday…the nerve of them, really. I mean 4 years ago I was handed these teeny, tiny, itty, bitty bundles of joy:
Team Gillis - The tiny version. Can you even stand them?!?!
And to celebrate these two little guys, every year I make a cake for them…I consider it my gift to them.
And every year I question my sanity.
Every year I get a little more crazy bold and try new techniques. And every year a get a wee bit better. Honestly my goal is just to make the cake quasi-recognizable, and I am happy. Here is a look back on years past:
Year 1: Cupcakes
An homage to Dukes of Hazzard...get it?
The last smart idea I had. 12 full months of sleep deprivation and I couldn’t find my way out of a cardboard box of cake mix let alone make an actual cake. Cupcakes were where it was at in ’09
Year 2: Yo Gabba Gabba
Cakes with eyeballs = wee bit creepy
Who knew plain cakes with eyeballs could be so hard?? And that you actually needed to put wooden dowels inside to help support the weight? And the time that went into making true red frosting…yeah, that was a big learning curve year for me. Thankfully they were only 2 and not cake connoisseurs yet. Oh, and if you don’t know what Yo Gabba Gabba is, consider yourself lucky.
Year 3: Mickey Mouse
Thank you buzz lightyear helmet for forming these ears..
I got a little more obsessive about this cake, the boys were older and I had some more free time to do research. So I thought it might be a good idea to do their names, in Disney font. Not such a great idea when you have to press black fondant through your garlic press. (black garlic, not yummy) But overall not too shabby.
And finally, Year 4: Toy Story
Full realization that I am cuckoo for cocoa puffs...
I took two days off of work to finish this cake. Two vacation days, people! On a cake. For Preschoolers.
Oh that room with the rubber walls does look like fun! And that sweet white jacket looks very comfy….
So now that I am back from insane-ville, we can get back to regularly scheduled recipes and posts. I will not post any specific recipes for the monstrosity here, but you may see some in the future. I will throw you guys a bone for all your nice, no-complaining waiting, so here is the rundown of the cake layers:
Layer 1: Chocolate Stout Cake w. Whipped Chocolate Ganache Filling
Layer 2: Brown Butter Yellow Cake w. Whipped Lemon Curd Filling.
Layer 3: Salted Brown Butter Rice Krispy Treats covered in Fondant.
Ahh, it’s good to be back in a land that doesn’t revolve around Toy Story, or cake, or frosting, or parties, or……
I mentioned to you how my mom makes the best Chocolate Mousse hands down. If you didn’t get it from my post, it’s really one of the top chocolate deserts you may ever taste. I don’t even bother trying to find another recipe to see if I could improve. Sometimes, when you nail it, you just nail it…and thank your lucky stars that you do not have to research any more mousse recipes.
My mother-in-law has a similar dish. A dish that she is known for all over the commonwealth of Massachusetts (did you know that MA was a commonwealth and not a state?? Same with PA…weirdos). Kathy’s Macaroni & Cheese. She has legions of fans who swoon at her feet the moment they hear that she is making her famous dish. Hoards of people requesting the recipe, in the hopes that they can come close to recreating the magic that she does with pasta, milk, and cheese.
Yeah, no pressure…
My boys are obsessed with chocolate milk. At every chance they get, their tiny sing-song voices plead ”Puh-lease can we have chocolate milk with dinner??? Pretty please?” This typically turns into repetitive begging/whining until we concede.
Just.to.make.them.stop
Just a note, this only occurs when out to eat…for some reason they know our defenses are already down since we were crazy enough to bring two three-year-olds out. To eat. In public (if you don’t get the gravity of that statement, you obviously either don’t have kids or are insane have angel babies).
For all who know me, you know I am married to a Bostonian (and those who don’t know, in the words of the Notorious B.I.G., now you know). For anyone reading this who doesn’t know what that entails, let me explain:
1) He is a sports guy through and through: If you cut him, he bleeds Red – Red Sox that is and he’s loved the Pats way before handsome Mr. Ugg himself (please don’t get him started on how underrated Drew Bledsoe is)
2) He drives like a maniac – yet anyone wanting to drive faster than him IS the maniac
3) Saint Patrick’s Day is his favorite holiday – AND he actually enjoys boiled dinner ::shiver::
4) Forget ever hearing the letter “r” ever again. Or at least where you have come to expect the 18th letter of the alphabet
So, if you ever doubt that I love my husband, you must remember this – I have completely let him alter the way my name has been spoken for the rest of my life. And to make matter’s worse (and yet, to explain the title of the blog) my maiden name was Baker. As in, Amber Baker. As in, I’d never hear my name spoken correctly as long as I lived with a man born and bred outside Boston Mass.
