Making Food

I really like to bake.  I can't say everything I make is beautiful, but most of it tastes pretty fantastic.  And I'm working on the aesthetic part.  Sometimes I'll make the same thing for weeks in a row until I feel like I can make it look good.  Or at least, good enough for other people to see it.

I have a problem, though, because I'm really trying to lose some of these baby pounds.  This wouldn't be a problem if there were lots of people in my house to consume the baked goods I am so frequently making.  As it is, there are only four of us.  And, one of those four doesn't even have teeth yet.  So, I am often forced  to eat what I've made.  Yes, forced.  All that food can't go to waste; I surely can't let it mold on my counter.  I do freeze quite a bit, but there's only so much room in my freezer.  An easy solution would be to bake less.  But I can't seem to manage that.  I must bake.  It's almost therapeutic.  When the kids are stressing me out, I just want to make something and have the kitchen smell like delicious-ness.  Even just the smell of comfort food can bring calm in times of stress.

I am left with a dilemma.  It's like this: can't live with the baked goods; can't live without making them.

In my mind, I envision the perfect solution......

Here in my home, I am just putting a delicious pie into the oven.  Or two.  Maybe Apple.  It's the season for apple pies.  While it's in the oven, I prepare my sign.  "Uber-delicious, melt in your mouth, make your taste buds sing, fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie inside."  When the timer says five minutes left on the pie, I take my sign outside and plant it right in front of the house.  At the door, I put a sign, "Entrance fee: $5."  The table is prepared with plates and forks, even cups with warm apple cider.


Enter: guests.  Here they come.... every car that innocently drives down my street can't help but pull over at the thought of warm gooey apple pie.  And as soon as they open the door, the smell is like a magnet pulling them in.  "Five dollars? What?..... Oh well, I can't turn back now.  That smell is calling to me!"


And so they eat.  Every last piece.  I take down my sign, say goodbye, and begin to clean up.

Problem solved.  Pie is gone.  And, as a bonus, I have some cash to boot.  Cash I will probably spend on  the next baked item to come out of my oven.  Whatever it may be.

If only it were that easy.