Working on some stuff right now but thought I'd post a humorus true adventure. This is sort of a Chicken Soup for the soul type of story I like to call Domestic Bliss.
Have you ever had one of those days you wondered why you bothered to put forth an effort to accomplish anything? This was my day of domestic bliss…
Let me start by setting the scene. We had a galley kitchen that opened into the dining room on one end and a breakfast bar with a pass through into the family room on the other end. My husband was kicked back enjoying Sunday football on television, and I decided to bake a cake.
I proceeded to get all my ingredients together for a Hot Milk Sponge Cake; something I hadn't made in a long time. It's delicious but a whole lot of work. I began measuring out the flour. By the way, what is it with flour? No matter how carefully you deal with the stuff, the kitchen always looks like the dusting in the aftermath of a small explosion.
Okay, I've got all the dry ingredients together and the bowl set aside. I got eggs, sugar and vanilla going in the mixer, then began warming the milk moving from mixer to stove careful not to scold the milk. I'm in the rhythm now; on a roll, so to speak.
I combined all ingredients into one bowl then poured the batter into a bundt pan, placed it in the oven, set the timer and began cleaning up the kitchen. It's amazing how one person can create such a mess in such a minimal amount of time!
The kitchen was small, so I crawled around the floor with the dustpan and brush in an attempt to sweep up the nuclear fallout of flour that managed to migrate everywhere. Finished, I started to get up but, stopped in a squat to dump the dustpan into the small trashcan I kept under the ledge of the breakfast bar. That done, I stood up and BANG! My head met the underside of the counter with a dull thud. The pain blackened my sight and a millions stars sprinkled across my vision. My husband swears to this day, the counter lifted several inches with the impact.
"God! Are you all right?" He asked coming into the kitchen concern written all over his face.
Meanwhile, I'm cursing and laughing at the same time, rubbing the knot on the back of my already aching head. I nod to assure him I'm not going to fall out nor did I think I had a concussion. After a quick hug and a small stint with the ice pack, we both went about our business. By that time, the cake was ready to come out of the oven.
I took it out and placed it on the rack to cool for about ten to fifteen minutes. You wouldn't believe what happened next…
I got the cake plate and set it on top of the cake pan so I could turn the still hot cake out onto the plate. Well… the plate somehow went AWOL and the next thing I knew the cake had taken flight. I watched mesmerized as it passed over the breakfast bar and into the family room. My husband looked as if he were watching a tennis match; his eyes traveled between my face and the airborn cake. But, he was quick to recover. He jumped up and after one-bounce rescued the hot cake from the floor on the rebound, flipped it from hand to hand and finally, landed it upright on the cake plate. I still stood in the kitchen grasping the cake pan laughing so hard tears were streaming down my cheeks and my stomach muscles ached.
To this day, we get a gut-busting laugh over that episode. I guess you can say, without a doubt, that sponge cake had bounce.