This was new for me. The invitation said to bake a dessert and bring enough recipe cards to share with the group. So I did just that. I gave my pastry chef the night off and I personally cropped and mounted recipe cards for my gluten-free, dairy-free, nut-free, sugar-free, carb-free, butter-free, lard-free, vegan-friendly, Paleo/Whole 30/Keto-approved contribution.
I took my treat and cards over
to this girl, Abby's house and was ready to proudly present my work. The hostess made it seem like,
at least in her Evite, that she was going to demo her recipe first and then we
would take turns showcasing our recipes.
NO ONE else except for ME brought something. Was I going to have to split the time
with just Abby? Oh wait! One girl showed up with a frozen roll of cookie dough. Not even on a rose gold Williams-Sonoma baking pan. Just in her hand waving it around like a giant PROZAC pill. Seriously? I don't care how many kids she has, how long her commute is, that her husband is out of work and she's had to get a second job. I was so embarrassed for her.
The night dragged on with Abby's Chocolate Brownie Trifle. For starters, why would she call it a "Pastry Potluck" and not even show us how to make a pastry? Second, how hard is it to put layers in a pedestal bowl? Then she didn't even ask me to present after going to all of that trouble. In fact, I don't think she even looked at what I brought.
We sat around Abby's kitchen and I watched as most of the women were eating her trifle, and gushing over her organic ingredients and made-from-scratch brownies. (Get this: I had to sit at an IKEA table style that came out when the Winter Olympics were in Sochi.) After I had seen enough, I stood up, grabbed my Harry and David basket with my goodies, and said my goodbyes before heading home.
I guess my carefully sealed and puffy decorated food-grade bags of AIR can now go to my friends in my hot yoga class.
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