Are You a Rachael or a Martha?

Despite my fears, the chicken was delicious. Okay, it was decent. But no one got sick and there wasn’t a dry mouth in the house. Thrilled with my progress, I moved on to the muffins.

It should be noted that our oven sucks. I’m not making excuses, I’m just saying… I stared at that door, opening it every minute or so to reevaluate. I waffled (Waffles! Perhaps that’s what I should have made instead?!) between keeping them in well past their removal time and yanking those puppies out before they burst into flames. Finally after a good eight minutes or so (I don’t know. I lost count!) past their due, I removed them…

They didn’t look like the muffins I order at the local bakery. They didn’t even look like bake sale goods. Apparently elementary schoolers, a third my age, have more than math skills on me. At half the height of a normal muffin, with caved in tops, cavernous holes and charred bottoms, they weren’t the most sightly things you’ve ever seen. But perhaps they still tasted yummy.

They did not.

Inside they were doughy and a bit bitter (too much salt?). My husband tried to humor me as he popped the apple-scented hockey puck into his mouth. “They’re not terrible,” he said trying to sound optimistic. I tossed them in the trash and, deflated, went to watch some TV. Clearly, I should have turned on The Cooking Channel or The Food Network but I’d had enough for one day. There was only one thing that was going to make me feel better about myself and that was the dysfunction that is the Real Housewives of New Jersey. They may be good in the kitchen but that’s about all they’ve got sorted in their lives.

During the commercials I had a thought: Perhaps I was wrong all along. Maybe I’m more of a Rachael than a Martha. So it’s settled. I’m sticking to perfecting my savory signatures and leaving the pastries to the pros.