Baking Night at The Compound

Friday was completely a SCORE! day. We received a box as big as my living room from Jim which I haven’t opened yet. I’m thinking it may contain a Mercedes G500. Jim, you shouldn’t have!

A box came from my secret Santa in Tom’s family–it’ll remain unopened until Monday. A box came from Timmy, and among other things, he sent cookies (OMG, SO GOOD) in this adorable tin, which I didn’t let Lynne see or she would steal it:

These stunning flowers were delivered: florally goodness from Tom’s parents to say Merry Christmas to The Compounders and Happy Birthday to Tom.

I think it’s possible that elves threw up in my living room, because I don’t know where the hell all this stuff came from.

Most years, we have a baking day at Lynne’s. This year, she opted to leave her comfort zone and the best-stocked kitchen imaginable to deal with my kitchen, the land of no counter space, barely acceptable mixer, not enough pans, no dishwasher… Oh, I could go on. She was a Very Brave Woman who felt up to the challenge. On the evening’s agenda: cheese straws (three batches), rum balls (two batches), and brownies (two batches), dog insanity (five dogs), and every mixing bowl from my house and Tim’s, every cookie sheet and pizza pan from my house and Tim’s, and enough powdered sugar to coat Cincinnati (city picked at random with no ill intent).

By the time Lynne arrived with Minute and Sparky (Greta the Dowager Doberman was all, HELL NO I’M NOT GOING OVER THERE ARE YOU INSANE ACTIVATE THE ALARM ON YOUR WAY OUT AS I DO NOT WISH TO BE DISTURBED–being somewhat deaf, Greta tends to shout in run-on sentences), I had most of the prep work done for the rum balls. Whereupon Lynne snubbed my rum and pulled Jack out of her bag of supplies. RumWhiskey in the amount of 1/4 cup is called for, but as I reminded her, we always put in an extra splash. In this case, Lynne put in an extra tidal wave. I predict there’ll be some VERY lively Monopoly games happening at Green Acres.

Lynne learned to make a new cookie last weekend and saved one to poke fun at me for being a Rat Murderer. When the rats tried to kill my dogs, she thought maybe she shouldn’t give it to me. Then, since the dogs are fine, she brought it last night. In the meantime, it lost an ear.

While Tom and Lynne left to run an errand, I put a more modest amount of rum in my mixture. This is when the evening took a turn toward debauchery. Once Mama was gone, the devil in Minute came out.

When good dogs go bad*…

Tim and Rex came over, then Two Wise Lesbians showed up bearing gifts. By this point, I was shredding cheese and Tim was milling pepper and Minute… Well…

Sleeping it off.*

Somewhere in the midst of the madness, I suddenly asked, “Where’s Sparky?”

“Sparky’s here?” Tim asked unhelpfully.

“He’s supposed to be.”

If you read Tim’s LJ, you know that Sparky is diabetic and blind and has wanderlust. A frantic search ensued and involved Lindsey stepping in a pile of Sparky shit on the sidewalk (giving him a break here: he has no idea where he is when he’s at my house, and at least he did it outside, unlike another dog who left tiny parting gifts in my bedroom and my office).

Who, me?

With much trepidation, I called Lynne’s cell to tell her that Sparky was on some Montrose street corner with a little cup crying, “Kibble! Kibble for the blind diabetic!” Sparky, however, was with Lynne and Tom and arrived home safely. In retaliation for her shoe…

Lindsey bit Sparky.

The evening progressed, and Tom cookie-pressed his usual flawless lines of cheese straw dough.

A glimpse at beauty. Stop looking at Tim and Rex. I’m talking about the cheese straws.

Lindsey discovered that cheese straw dough has a mind of its own. She’s no quitter, however, and though I didn’t get a photo of it, she made the task entertaining by cookie-pressing circles instead of lines.

Lynne paused in the act of mixing brownies to let Lindsey know that cheese straw circles are just wrong. Fortunately, Lindsey ignored Lynne and didn’t bite her.

“Shun the cheese straw drama,” Rhonda said. “Shuuuuuuuun-nuh.” (You’ll understand that line if you’ve seen the Candy Mountain video on YouTube. And if you haven’t seen it, what are you waiting for? It’s a video of sweets, and joy, and joyness…)

After Lindsey and Rhonda left, Tim and I powdered the rum and whiskey balls. And oh, yeah. Tim powdered something else.

Or else Guinness is going prematurely gray.

*No dogs actually imbibed whiskey in the making of baked goodness at The Compound. The rest of us, however, had a strong compulsion to drink after the fifth time we heard “Jingle Bell Rock.”