I blame this on my parents...

Now, before you think I'm one of those people who blames every one of my irrational issues on my sweet parents (I have a plethora of issues...) - I must assure you, that I am not. I can assure you, however, that it is entirely their fault that I am not a good cook. Ok, maybe not entirely. But their shameful behavior definitely contributed to my kitchen-associated delinquency. 

Shall I tell of the travesties my parents committed? Well, since you asked...

My dad consistently attempts to cook and barbecue the impossible. And HE SUCCEEDS. My mom consistently attempts to bake the impossible. And SHE SUCCEEDS. Let me tell you...with my parents at the helm, "impossible" ALWAYS. TASTES. SO. GOOD. The audacity!

So tell me...what choice did my little 6-year-old mind have, but to rationalize: "why on earth would I need to learn to this stuff?!" And thus, began my delicate relationship with the kitchen. As you can imagine, I very quickly took on the role of enthusiastic consumer, rather than adept and agile creator. Since childhood, I have taken this role so seriously, in fact, that there are VERY few foods - ethnic, exotic, or otherwise - that I would ever refuse ("refuse-worthy" exceptions are: pretzels, white chocolate, chocolate/peanut butter combinations...hurl). 

And then I got married. 

Look at that sweet, unassuming guy --------------------> In my frightening grip. Unable to escape. Not knowing what was he was in for, when it came to his new bride's cooking. It's OK - I'll chime in along with you... "poor John!"

Anyway, my husband's loving encouragement helped me to eventually figure out how to at least "fake it." Pretend like I know what I'm doing and pray over whatever I've created. And wouldn't you know it, on many occasions, "faking it" has yielded an edible...or even a decent, meal!

And though I have no issues identifying myself as a sub-par cook, I've always felt comfortable telling others that I'm an adequate baker. 

Then, this morning happened. Apparently, I overestimated myself. 

After charring the edges of this Lemon Blueberry Bundt Cake (a fancy "rose" shaped bundt pan created the rough, fluted edges...I'm not that bad.), I had no choice but to pick off all of the sticky blackness, piece by piece. And no, I'm not ashamed to say I ate some of it...I told you I'll try almost anything. Unfortunately, I didn't take a "before-picking" photo, so the shot above actually doesn't look too terrible. But trust me, I almost cried when it came out of the oven. 

This is the cake, "post-picking." The dark spots you see are not burned edges, but blueberries (though the blueberries themselves are probably charred too).

SO, in conclusion - five things for today:

• I absolutely love my parents, but this morning's baking disaster is their fault! I mean, they were just too darn good in the kitchen and had the gall to feed me wonderful things. Therefore, my lifelong refusal to learn a new skill and better myself is completely logical, right? Don't worry. I plan to explore this issue further in therapy.
• I love my husband. And, I'm thankful that he still loves me in spite of myself and his bored, aching stomach. 
• I need a regular bundt pan. Fancy, flute-edged bundt pans are beyond my skill-set. 
• If you havent already guessed - this is not and will never be a cooking/baking blog. You do not want to be like or listen to me when it comes to that kind of stuff. That said, if on the rare occasion I do have a cooking/baking triumph, I will tell you about it...out the sheer need to shout it from the rooftops.
• The inside of the Lemon Blueberry Bundt better taste good, because I'm serving it at small group tonight. They're just going to have to deal with it.

Figuring it out - one irrational issue at a time,

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my beautiful cousin, Marcie! Would you like me to bake your birthday cake??