So this entry was inspired about some cinnamon rolls that I prepared and ruined a couple days ago. Until that point, I had never made the slightest mistake in terms of making cinnamon rolls, or anything with frosting for that matter. There are a few things in life that I am extremely passionate about and preparation of food is one of them for I am a dude who loves to eat. I am a very unpicky eater with an exception of celery and those gross fennel seeds that you will sometimes find in Italian sausage. However, although being unpicky, I prefer to eat foods that have been prepared correctly to soothe my taste buds, for Lord knows, I’ve had a lot of practice tasting foods.
Two days ago, I was at home with my baby girls while mama (Krystal) was at work. I became hungry, but to my dismay, there was nothing in our house that I could fix in a process that would consist of grabbing some food out of the refrigerator, putting it on a plate and brewing it up in a microwave for a couple minutes. All we had was baby/toddler food and canned green beans, canned carrots, canned corn, etc. To say the least, we need to go grocery shopping. The girls were set, but I am not the type of dude to eat canned vegetables. And if I did, I could eat 10-15 cans of whatever vegetable and my stomach will still feel unsatisfied…as if I hadn’t eaten anything at all. The only other food item we had in our household was cinnamon rolls, which involves a minimal amount of cooking. Cooking is something I am relatively decent at if I am paying enough attention. I’m usually real good at cooking cinnamon rolls. It’s just a matter of setting the oven to a specific temperature, spraying a pan with cooking spray, placing the cinnamon rolls on the pan, watching them closely until they are done and finishing with topping the rolls AFTER they come out of the oven with the frosting that is included within the package. Pretty easy stuff, right? Well yeah, but…
So I screwed up some cinnamon rolls. How so? Well, I did everything correctly with an exception of one thing… I put the fucking frosting on the cinnamon rolls before I put them in the oven instead of spreading the frosting on the rolls after they were done cooking. Therefore, as the rolls were cooking, so was the fucking frosting. I have no idea why I did this. I have been making foods with frosting since I can remember and have never made that particular mistake. And to make things about as bad as they can be, I didn’t realize that I had made this mistake until the actual rolls looked good and it was time to take them out of the oven. After taking them out of the oven, I noticed my mistake immediately. I thought to myself, “for fuck’s sake, you have got to be shitting me… I can’t believe I just did that. Well, the only other thing in our house that I can eat is canned vegetables….screw that, I’m going to have to make these cinnamon rolls work somehow. I’d rather eat biffed up cinnamon rolls than canned vegetables.”
So how did eating those biffed up cinnamon rolls turn out? Not good. The rolls were fine…I pulled them out of the oven in perfect timing as I usually do. But the frosting. The texture of the frosting was like plastic. When I would take a bite, I would finish eating the roll portion in a matter of seconds, but would be chewing on the frosting for minutes. It seriously felt like I was eating frosting-flavored plastic. The flavor was good, but the texture was a reminder why I chose not to chew on my action figures as a tyke. If I had a cavity, I probably would have been in such pain that I would have felt like going to the emergency room. And this is coming from a guy who never goes to a doctor unless he has something seriously wrong with him, like spasms brought on by hip dysplacia. On the bright side, I guess I learned that I probably don’t have any cavities at the moment…which is awesome.
I tried eating as much of these as I could, but got to the point where I couldn’t handle anymore. Eating these cinnamon rolls was too much work. It was making my jaw feel fatiqued. I went from attempting to eating a whole roll to eating just the middle of the cinnamon rolls to simply throwing most of them away. I hid them real well in the waste basket when I threw them away because I didn’t want my soon to be wife (getting married May 15th!), notice that I had attempted to make cinnamon rolls and failed admirably. She would give me shit if she knew about it for I am always bragging about how good of a cook I am…informing her that I am a master at preparing exquisite foods. She doesn’t believe in my cooking abilities because well, I don’t really cook much these days. Therefore when I talk about how awesome of a cook I am, she just laughs at me. She would laugh if she knew how badly I screwed up on these cinnamon rolls. Many of you may be thinking, “well, if she didn’t know before, she will know now, right?” I don’t know about that. I don’t really know if she reads the blog too much…she thinks the Rick “The Mullet Man” Suave stuff is pretty funny, but I honestly don’t know if she reads the stories. I guess I will find out… I’m surprised that she hasn’t noticed that the cinnamon rolls are missing, yet…
So this incident with the cinnamon rolls encouraged me to reflect on some of the moments I’ve had in my life where I have SUCCESSFULLY prepared foods that are equipped with frosting. I immediately became stuck swimming around in an array of thoughts regarding a food item that my mom used to purchase consistently when I was 10-13 years old. I have no idea if they even exist anymore, for I haven’t seen them in my parents’ or my personal fridge in years and I never see any commercials about them. They were called toaster strudles. There used to be a hellafied amount of advertising about toaster freaking strudles for a while there, and their commercials were freaking stupid…I will get to that in a bit.
If toaster strudles do indeed, exist still, then I have an array of excuses as to why I don’t know they do exist. 1.) I am never awake early enough for their commercials, which I remember generally being aired on Saturday mornings when I was younger. Generally on Saturdays I am asleep until noon. And 2.), if they have them at the store, I have probably walked right past them without even looking at them. Ya see, I hate grocery shopping. Whenever I am grocery shopping, I am with my lovely, beautiful fiancee, Krystal who pretty much runs the show, but takes forever, just like my mom does when she shops for groceries. If you ever see me at Wal-Mart and I come off as stand-offish to you, don’t take it personally. Chances are, my staring straight ahead with a glazed expression and having zombie demeanor is a result of me seriously wishing I was in my car, slamming on my gas pedal, speeding away from Wal-Mart. I think the only time I move my eyes to the side to check out the food options is when we are in the Oreo section. Can’t miss out on those peanut butter Oreos, yo.
I used to love it when my mom brought home toaster strudels. And my love didn’t at all derive from the strudles. It was the frosting. Speaking of toaster strudel commercials earlier, I remember how pissed off I used to get when I would watch this toaster strudel commercial with this dumbass kid standing by his toaster, patiently awaiting his toaster strudel to finish toasting. When the strudel finished toasting, the damn thing popped up about 5 feet in the air (unrealistic) and the kid caught the strudel and immediately took a huge bite of it. I remember thinking to myself as a 10 year old kid who didn’t verbally swear, but always definitely swore while thinking to myself, “what the fuck is wrong with this douchebag. He is standing by a toaster like some dog waiting for you to drop food on the floor so it can snatch it for table scraps, and this freaking butt-munch in this commercial doesn’t even THINK about putting frosting on it this toaster strudel he was waiting on. In fact, this shit-wad doesn’t even have frosting near him when he catches the strudel. Maybe he already ate the frosting, in which, I can’t blame him.”
Anyways, within 20 minutes of my mom bringing home groceries, I was already secretly digging into the toaster strudel frosting. For the 3 or so years that my mom brought home toaster strudels, we had an ongoing problem of the frosting packets that they came with, missing. And it was because of me To my memory, toaster strudels came in boxes of 6 and each strudel was paired with an individual frosting packet. A frosting packet for every strudel included. My family consistently bitched and moaned about how the Pillsbury company didn’t supply you with enough frosting for our toaster strudels. To them, it appeared as if for every 6 strudels, there would be 2 frosting packets. I expressed my disgust along with them. Little did they know that the reason for there being such a short supply of frosting for the toaster strudels was because I (one of the most vocal parties who expressed their disgust in terms of there not being enough frosting), would eat at least 4 out of the 6 frosting packets within a half hour of them being brought home. Suckers.
I remember when I initially began eating the frosting from the toaster strudel packages. Dad thought there was something up, immediately. I remember him saying something along the lines of, “what the helllllll!!!! There’s 6 God damned toaster strudels, but only 2 frosting packets. What the FUCK…is going on???” And he would stare at my brother, Justin and I as if we had something to do with it. By the time I was 10-13 years old, I definitely fit into the role of the loud-mouthed dumbass of the family. I always took this as an opportunity to try to show my dad that I had actually been learning some things in school. This was around the age where I was learning fractions. I would say, “oh, I think it comes with two packets because you have to use 1/3 of a packet to cover each strudel…that’s just how they make them.” I remember gazing at my dad after saying this and he would crinkle his forehead a bit and look up to the sky to indicate that he was thinking. Then he would calmly respond, “that’s right, very good Joshua. That does equal 1/3 of a packet per strudel.” Then he would forget about the missing frosting. Although I was spitting a line of shit, I must admit that it felt good that for a moment I was able to prove to my dad that beneath it all, I actually was relatively book smart and wasn’t some dumbass mouth-breather.
Then there was the time my mom brought the toaster strudels home and literally right when she brought the groceries inside, my dad was hungry for them. He dug them out of the sack, found the package, opened it and discoverered that there were, in fact, 6 packets of frosting per box. One per strudel. Dad immediately had questions and I, being the guilty frosting stealer for years at this point, had to come up with another explanation. I resorted to blaming it on my younger brother. My freaking perfect younger brother. My brother was so perfect (literally, he was a mini-celeb in Southeast Iowa when he was in high school due to his athletic achievements) in his interactions with my parents, although I swear to this day, he was a bit more sneaky than I was in terms of ruffling my parents’ feathers. If he were to be disobedient or defiant, he was very passive aggressive about things opposed to me who ran my mouth loudly and quickly like some jackass trying to deny cheating on the Maury Povich Show when there are paternity tests right in front of him which indicate that he is the recent father of 4 other children from 4 other women. For some reason, blaming the decline of the toaster strudel frosting packets on Justin seemed believable to my mother and father, presumably because he always loved sweet foods. I consistently blamed this on him, while he denied it and wasn’t believed by them and would ultimately be in trouble for 5-10 minutes or whenever the butt-hurt decreased.
Although I stated that Justin was more sneaky with his disobedience while I was more vocal, he was still a more obedient kid than me, even if you do take his sneakiness into consideration. Me blaming him for eating the toaster strudel frosting packets and my parents actually giving my claim a hint of legitimacy was a perfect example of how half of the instances in which my brother got in trouble (which wasn’t much) was actually due to something that I did, but blamed him for. Isn’t that awful?
The frustrating thing is that he was in trouble so little of the time that I don’t remember how the chew-out sessions from Dad unraveled for him. I know mine were something along the lines of:
Man, it probably sucked being Justin sometimes. Half of the time where he actually got into trouble was because of something I did. Not to mention, whenever I got into trouble, he had to feed the horses. Ouch.