So, it’s that time of the month again – Book Club and thus today I’ve found myself in a position mostly alien to me; knee deep in cookie dough.
I rarely don the apron (Cath Kidston btw) and I’m more Carlos Solis in the baking department than Bree Van De Kamp. But for Book Club, I have to make the effort and face my kitchen fears.
I’ve mentioned before on this blog that I’d get thrown out if I turned up with boxed cookies, and that’s really not far from the truth. And this I learnt from bitter experience.
Three years ago, after living here for a couple of months, I joined my local chapter of the national moms organisation, Mothers & More. It’s a great group to be part of and gave me the gateway to meeting most of the women I now call friends. But there are unspoken rules to our gatherings. Rules that don’t appear on the mission statement.
Food etiquette.
One of the first evening events I went to was their Book Club. (I hadn’t read the book, but was assured that didn’t matter, as gossip and eating were the main order of the night.) All I had to do was bring a dessert or appetizer to share and show up. Not knowing what kind of treat to bring, I went to a local gourmet market and picked out a sugar laden box of Christmas cookies. (Twas the season n all.)
When I arrived at the host’s house and went into the kitchen, I saw the counter was bursting with edible delights. There was spinach dip and crackers (home-made) brownies (home-made) Molten chocolate cakes (home-made) peanut butter cream pie (home-made) mini meatloaves (home-made) cheese n ham spirals (home-made) oatmeal raisin cookies (home-made) and chocolate chip muffins (home-made).
My heart sank as I sheepishly added my boxed cookies to the mix.
Conversation flowed and everyone started to fill their plates and the wine was poured. I starred in awe as the host laid out little Christmas themed napkins, plates and knives and forks. Even the spoons had Santa on them. Clearly, coming from the UK where a gathering means you are lucky to get a plain white paper plate and a plastic fork, this scene left me gob smacked. (I have since come to realise that this sort of spread complete with holiday themed cutlery (silverware) and matching napkins is completely normal in a US home.)
I thought I had come to her party-of-the-year, not an informal discussion on the Bronte sisters.
The women made me feel really welcome and we to-ed and fro-ed from the kitchen refilling throughout the evening. I quickly realised my mistake in having dinner beforehand.
However, every time I went into the kitchen, I noticed my lurid green Christmas tree cookies remained untouched. I didn’t fancy their chances against this gourmet feast. Three hours passed and the oatmeal raisin cookies were devoured. The spinach dip was all gone and the molten cakes left us with gooey fingers.
Still my cookies remained sealed.
At the end of the night, everyone takes home what’s left of the dishes they bring. I was the only one to bring home exactly what I’d entered the house with. I was crestfallen. I’d failed in the bring-a-dish-to-pass department.
So Him Downstairs had a Christmas cookie in his lunchbox every day after, until they eventually ran out around Chinese New Year! (He reported, that they were, “OK-ish.”)
My lesson was learnt. Though shall never bring store-bought goods to Book Club.
And so the monthly book meetings leave me all of a tizzy in two ways. First, I have to finish the blooming book on time (this is fine when I enjoy it and can race through it, but when we’re doing some sleep-inducing American historical ‘masterpiece’ I barely open the front cover.) And secondly, it means I have to get the Cath out.
The Cath (my apron) and I have become better friends since that first Book Club. And actually she always brings a smile to my face when I wear her, because one of my best friends in the UK sent it to me when I moved Stateside. She said I needed something to wear whilst I baked all the apple pie I was surely going to, now I was a desperate housewife! She was right. Sort of.
So here’s this month’s finished product, hot off the pan so to speak. My very own chocolate chip cookies, Mom/Mum style. (Not exactly all round and perfect, but they're home-made!) No so impressive to all you culinary queens out there, granted. But to me and my little family, they are a miracle worth photographing. Plus they’ll keep me in Book Club for the next month at least.
And Valley Girl I have a tip for you. If you do move to America, whatever you do, make sure you have a decent oven!
Now, who wants a cookie?
I rarely don the apron (Cath Kidston btw) and I’m more Carlos Solis in the baking department than Bree Van De Kamp. But for Book Club, I have to make the effort and face my kitchen fears.
I’ve mentioned before on this blog that I’d get thrown out if I turned up with boxed cookies, and that’s really not far from the truth. And this I learnt from bitter experience.
Three years ago, after living here for a couple of months, I joined my local chapter of the national moms organisation, Mothers & More. It’s a great group to be part of and gave me the gateway to meeting most of the women I now call friends. But there are unspoken rules to our gatherings. Rules that don’t appear on the mission statement.
Food etiquette.
One of the first evening events I went to was their Book Club. (I hadn’t read the book, but was assured that didn’t matter, as gossip and eating were the main order of the night.) All I had to do was bring a dessert or appetizer to share and show up. Not knowing what kind of treat to bring, I went to a local gourmet market and picked out a sugar laden box of Christmas cookies. (Twas the season n all.)
When I arrived at the host’s house and went into the kitchen, I saw the counter was bursting with edible delights. There was spinach dip and crackers (home-made) brownies (home-made) Molten chocolate cakes (home-made) peanut butter cream pie (home-made) mini meatloaves (home-made) cheese n ham spirals (home-made) oatmeal raisin cookies (home-made) and chocolate chip muffins (home-made).
My heart sank as I sheepishly added my boxed cookies to the mix.
Conversation flowed and everyone started to fill their plates and the wine was poured. I starred in awe as the host laid out little Christmas themed napkins, plates and knives and forks. Even the spoons had Santa on them. Clearly, coming from the UK where a gathering means you are lucky to get a plain white paper plate and a plastic fork, this scene left me gob smacked. (I have since come to realise that this sort of spread complete with holiday themed cutlery (silverware) and matching napkins is completely normal in a US home.)
I thought I had come to her party-of-the-year, not an informal discussion on the Bronte sisters.
The women made me feel really welcome and we to-ed and fro-ed from the kitchen refilling throughout the evening. I quickly realised my mistake in having dinner beforehand.
However, every time I went into the kitchen, I noticed my lurid green Christmas tree cookies remained untouched. I didn’t fancy their chances against this gourmet feast. Three hours passed and the oatmeal raisin cookies were devoured. The spinach dip was all gone and the molten cakes left us with gooey fingers.
Still my cookies remained sealed.
At the end of the night, everyone takes home what’s left of the dishes they bring. I was the only one to bring home exactly what I’d entered the house with. I was crestfallen. I’d failed in the bring-a-dish-to-pass department.
So Him Downstairs had a Christmas cookie in his lunchbox every day after, until they eventually ran out around Chinese New Year! (He reported, that they were, “OK-ish.”)
My lesson was learnt. Though shall never bring store-bought goods to Book Club.
And so the monthly book meetings leave me all of a tizzy in two ways. First, I have to finish the blooming book on time (this is fine when I enjoy it and can race through it, but when we’re doing some sleep-inducing American historical ‘masterpiece’ I barely open the front cover.) And secondly, it means I have to get the Cath out.
The Cath (my apron) and I have become better friends since that first Book Club. And actually she always brings a smile to my face when I wear her, because one of my best friends in the UK sent it to me when I moved Stateside. She said I needed something to wear whilst I baked all the apple pie I was surely going to, now I was a desperate housewife! She was right. Sort of.
So here’s this month’s finished product, hot off the pan so to speak. My very own chocolate chip cookies, Mom/Mum style. (Not exactly all round and perfect, but they're home-made!) No so impressive to all you culinary queens out there, granted. But to me and my little family, they are a miracle worth photographing. Plus they’ll keep me in Book Club for the next month at least.
And Valley Girl I have a tip for you. If you do move to America, whatever you do, make sure you have a decent oven!
Now, who wants a cookie?
