My mom once told me a story that occurred early on in her and my dad’s marriage. It was Dad’s turn to cook, and he decided to make broccoli fritters. The cookbook had the recipe listed under appetizers, so Dad naturally decided he’d need to increase the amounts to make enough for a main course. Well, as you can imagine, there was a surplus of fritters that hadn’t even made it to the fryer. It fell to Mom, who was pregnant at the time (don’t know if it was with mad or lbs), to fry up the rest. By the time she’d finished, she’d seen more than enough broccoli fritters to last her ten lifetimes, and she threw them all out. Despite my memories of my early years being sketchy to completely blank, I can safely, absolutely attest to the fact that I have never in my life had a broccoli fritter. I’ve no doubt this incident played a major part in that. I could have one now, though. I’m sure they’re quite tasty in small doses.
Now, the reason I mention that story is because I now have a vague idea what Mom was thinking and feeling when she threw out all those broccoli fritters she’d just gone to the trouble of cooking. After the Royal Cupcake War of Friday night, I’ve seen enough cupcakes to last me for quite a while — particularly the lemon ginger ones that I made, which were not that spectacular. I haven’t yet been able to bring myself to throw out the small cake I made with the leftover batter, but I did freeze it for much later consumption or tossing. I did throw out the two I’d brought home, plus another of someone else’s recipe that didn’t keep well in the fridge.
Despite cupcake overload, I had fun that night. I had 1/4 to 1/2 of each type of cupcake (there were…let’s see…oh dear…nine kinds) so as to fairly judge my favorite. My two top choices were the trifle (with custard filling, topped with strawberry jam and devonshire cream) and some chocolate concoction that featured a caramel filling. I think it was based on toffee or treacle tart.
We watched the footage of the royal wedding that our hostess had recorded. We mocked the ridiculous hats, fastforwarded through the boring parts, and expressed our gratefulness for the shortness of mormon weddings. I can’t imagine having to sit through an entire church service after my wedding ceremony. And the anthem that someone wrote in honor of their nuptials (a wedding present) was quattro fromage, in my opinion. I later told Merkin that I was dubious of the sincerity of the commentator who declared the Ferguson girls looked “regal”, but he assured me that “regal” was British for “inbred”. I’m sure they don’t always look so…um…yeah, but they certainly did that day. Very unflattering dresses, hideous hats, and a walk that suggested one of them had never worn heels in her life (or was actually a man in drag) did not help their appearance any.
Well, I’ve got to get moving, or I’ll never do anything with myself today.